Reminiscent of grown-up First Graders, a stream of drivers aching to pass through the newly installed traffic-calming zone in central Tehran must plea their cases to one man: Reza Mansouri, the traffic officer, who quickly attempts to distinguish between truth and fiction while fielding the myriad requests and accompanying stories, only occasionally breaking into a smile. Kiarostami takes advantage of this physical and psychological fulcrum pitting desperate or merely inconvenienced people against one pivotal gatekeeper. Though all of them are somewhat at the mercy of higher forces and bureaucratic systems—and consistently locked in slightly claustrophobic medium-shots—Mansouri has been given the responsibilities of a minor god in this car-centric universe.