Saba Bagheri

Critical Zone (2023) throws you right into the frenetic, neon-drenched streets of a city that never really sleeps—not in the way you'd want, anyway. Saba Bagheri absolutely owns the screen, navigating this gritty underbelly as a taxi driver who’s seen way too much but still never knows what the night will bring. It’s one of those stories where the city itself feels like a living, breathing character—buzzing with sketchy deals, lost souls, and moments of raw, unexpected tenderness. Bagheri’s character, half ghost, half witness, drifts through this nocturnal maze, picking up passengers who bring their own baggage—literal and otherwise. Each ride is a roll of the dice: you get a junkie looking for a fix, a philosopher rambling about the end of the world, a runaway clutching a secret. There’s a pulsing tension, a sense that danger is always lurking just out of sight, but also these weird flashes of human connection that make it all feel, well, painfully real. The film doesn’t play nice or tie things up in a neat bow. Nothing is black and white. You’re left wondering who’s really saving who, and whether anyone ever really escapes the city’s grip. It’s messy, it’s beautiful, and it sticks with you—the kind of movie that leaves your mind spinning long after the credits roll. Just a relentless, gritty snapshot of life at the edge.