Dariush Mehrjui's Leila is a quietly devastating portrait of a modern and loving Iranian marriage torn apart by the misogynistic demands of tradition. Leila (Leila Hatami) and Reza (Ali Mosaffa) live a comfortable middle-class life (they go out for Japanese food, watch Doctor Zhivago together on television), and enjoy each other's company, but their relationship is sent into turmoil when Leila finds out she can't have a child. Mehrjui tells the story from Leila's point-of-view, and the genuine tragedy of the film is that both she and Reza have internalized traditional roles and mores to such an extent that their love for each other isn't strong enough to allow them to reject the constant interference of Reza's mother (Jamileh Sheikhi). Their love is sincere, but the joy of the life they share together is so fragile that all it takes is a ringing phone (and they always know Reza's meddling mother is on the other end of the line) to shatter it. Mehrjui focuses on the intimate details of their domestic life, and there's a bitter irony to her mundane chores as Leila meticulously cleans and decorates her home in preparation for her husband's meeting with another woman. There are frequent close-ups of food being prepared and a memorable shot of the hem of a wedding dress brushing against the steps as the bride ascends. Leila is frequently shown peeking out at the world from behind some kind of barrier like a curtain or a tree. It's as though she's an outsider, spying upon her own life. Hatami delivers a powerfully moving performance, and the sympathy Mehrjui evokes for Leila and Reza makes the sadness of the tale that much deeper.