Shirin Abedini Rad

Critical Zone (2023) isn’t your average stroll through city streets—it’s more like a late-night, neon-soaked fever dream where reality gets a little wobbly and the lines between right and wrong blur into something you can’t quite put your finger on. The whole thing follows a guy named Amir. He’s not your classic hero. More like someone just trying to survive, grinding his way through Tehran’s underbelly as a low-level drug dealer. The city’s restless, buzzing with secrets and hidden stories, and Amir’s just one of a million faces blending into the background, trying to stay invisible while he makes his rounds. What really hits is how the film doesn’t sugarcoat anything—there’s a rawness that clings to these nighttime scenes. Amir’s world is all about quick exchanges, tight corners, and avoiding trouble from cops and rival dealers. He’s got clients from all walks of life—some desperate, some just bored—and he’s floating through it all, kind of numb but also hyper-aware. But then, as the hours tick by, stuff starts to spiral. The city feels like it’s closing in, paranoia creeping up, and Amir’s forced to confront choices that could mess up everything. There’s this pulsing tension, like you’re holding your breath the whole time. It’s gritty and real, with moments that sting and linger. Shirin Abedini Rad brings a raw edge to the story, making the chaos feel almost poetic—if chaos can ever be poetic. You walk away feeling a little shaken, maybe even looking at city nights differently.