I'd count two illegal aliens among my handful of good friends. And from what I know about their lives, the parallels of the illegal Afghan workers in the Iran depicted in the film Baran is surprisingly similar. Theirs is a life simplified to its most basic - the need to work, the fierce and loyal support of family, the threat of being discovered and removed. It's a hand-to-mouth, day by day existence. Rarely can they - or do they - consider crossing cultural boundaries for anything other than work, let alone love.

An exploration of the plight of illegal Afghan workers in Iran and an intimate journey into the opening heart and mind of an Iranian teenaged boy, Baran is a moving, simple and pure cinematic experience. Director Majid Majidi (The Color of Paradise) has fashioned a jewel of a movie set in a bleak world and colored with the warm shadings of first love.

Lateef (Hossein Abedini) is a cocky Iranian teenager, working as a cook in a construction development outside Tehran and alongside illegal, undocumented Afghan workers. The job is routine at best, the conditions passable. The opportunity for advancement is nil. When an Afghan newcomer arouses his disdain - and later his curiosity - the possibility of human connection is awoken and he embarks on a series of selfless acts in pursuit of an impossible love.

When Lateef loses his cushy kitchen post to Rahmat (Zahra Bahrami), the weak young son of an Afghan worker injured on the job, he is forced against his will into a more physically taxing position at the site. What begins as a rivalry and aggressive dislike for Rahmat gradually gives way to something deeper when Lateef discovers Rahmat's secret - she's no boy at all, but the frail, disguised, feminine daughter sent to the site to support her ailing family.

Baran seems at first a grim description of daily life amidst a ramshackle construction site situated in a valley beneath opposing mountain slopes. Daily work life is complete with immigration raids, rivalry between legal and illegal workers and the futile pursuit of actually collecting a day's wages. For much of the film's running time, it takes place largely in the confined environment of that site - which looks less like a building under development than a wasteland; a war zone, complete with steam, fire, constant fighting, chaos. In a strange way, it's almost like a castle presided over by its own dictatorial king, the decent-hearted, high-strung construction boss Memar (Mohammad Reza Naji), who provides what seems to be work and home for his eclectic and substantial kingdom of workers.

But when Lateef makes his discovery of Rahmat's true gender, his heart opens vastly, as does the film. We're transported from the dark poetry of the grim working world to the stunning landscapes of rural Iran, complete with falling snow, rushing rivers and sudden storms - and it feels intensely beautiful and liberating. Abedini, a marvelous comic/tragic presence, releases a torrent of emotion during a scene where he pleads with Naji for his wages to help Rahmat and her family. It's a stunning scene of such purity it's like an arrow to the heart. Ditto his final moments with Rahmat - or Baran, as we discover is her actual name. Bahrami's silent, wordless performance speaks volumes about her hopes for her family and her future. Observe the slow motion, close-up expression she maintains while trudging through a stream, carrying rocks, beaten-down, and nearly collapsing under their weight. It's a monumental piece of acting.

Baran is compassionate to the plight of undocumented Afghan workers, sensitive in its story of human discovery and love, and poetic with its ravishing images of love that blossoms in a dark and difficult world.