The extraordinary Iranian mountain rice-paddy scenery combined with extended takes of everyday community life reinforces the authentic spirit of Bashu. Beizai films with stark realism, his camerawork remaining simple but aesthetic. The jump-cutting is kept to a minimum, and the wide-angle lens is used with frequency. A market scene, in which Naii brings her children into the city to set up a stall, plays out like a National Geographic special on Iranian commerce, but it doesn't lose the interest of the audience. There is an underlying tension to this scene (as there is in much of this film) that culminates in Bashu's disappearance amongst the crowd; the boy's sense of being ethnically different is made apparent in his separation. However, we see him return that afternoon, having forged friendships with the local kids, and Benzai conveys the potential for ethnic and racial harmony. Although the film's tone is by no means lighthearted, the comic relief of Naii and Bashu's attempt to bridge the language barrier (Arabic vs. Iranian) is neither contrived or gratuitous. The two maintain a flow and rhythm that is natural and appealing. With a simple plot and spare dialogue, this film bears no Hollywood pretensions: it is about common people with real conflicts.
Naii's sudden sickness causes Bashu to assume her responsibilities and maintain a new maturity. He becomes a needed figure on the farm. Although Bashu's culture is far removed from our technology-oriented society, his dilemma in making friends and accepting responsibility strike a universally human chord. Yet, there exists also a certain hypnotic and dream-like quality that compliments the realism of Bashu, something that goes beyond the trite ÒcharmÓ that Americans seem to appreciate in foreign movies. Besides a mysterious, rhythmic singing in the opening and closing credits, the film is void of musical soundtrack, which makes for a special intensity in the character's relations. Suddenly, every sound and gesture and facial expression bears greater meaning and intimacy. The anti-war motif is evident in Bashu's startling delusions of his real mother, who was killed in a bombing in the film's first scene. She appears out of nowhere, standing silently in the fields, a phantom of the war. While not involving a high-speed chase or a sunset lit romantic embrace, the final sequence of Bashu, portraying Bashu's natural and heartfelt reception of Naii's husband after his months-long job search, is a most satisfying and emotional conclusion. The final shot of father, mother, and Bashu chasing a boar across the fields (you'd have to see it, I guess) suggest the purging of interracial misunderstanding and is an inspiring sense of closure.
If Bashu: the Little Stranger is an adequate representative of the quality of University sponsored films, then they are worth your while. You probably won't find any big-name stars or any Tarantino-type dialogue here. (Try subtitles) A movie like Bashu is of a more human and personal nature, a respite from much of the obnoxious American drivel that they keep churning out. Plus, admission was free.