The true face of "perpetual warfare" is exposed in Bahman Ghobadi's astonishing and heart-wrenching Turtles Can Fly. Set precipitously on the border of Iraq, Turkey, and Kurdistan, with the second Gulf War looming, Ghobadi's film succeeds almost immediately in naturalizing deprivation and destruction. It throws us right into a world of maimed kids who lead lives of desperation. But they're still children, and most of them retain an interest in childish pursuits, in friendship and in play. There are moments of joy and warmth amid the terror, and Ghobadi and his talented young cast of nonprofessionals convey it all beautifully, and the filmmaker manages to tell an engrossing story without a hint of contrivance. Satellite (Soran Ebrahim) is our entry point, and despite his braggadocio, Ebrahim is an immensely likeable presence. His essential decency is drawn out by Agrin's (Avaz Latif) plight. Even her armless psychic brother, Henkov (Hirsh Feyssal), finds a way to move beyond his ordeal. He's still driven by a need to survive, and by his sense of responsibility toward Agrin and the little blind boy who travels with them. But Agrin is too traumatized to adjust, and the blind toddler becomes the focal point of her feelings of degradation. Satellite, a natural optimist who admires President Bush ("The world is in his hands," he says with awe) learns a painful lesson. It would be difficult to overstate Ghobadi's accomplishment here. Turtles Can Fly is humane, funny, and visually acute, but it never shies away from the ugliness that mars these innocent lives.