Watching Mortician felt like stepping into a hushed twilight - quiet, haunting, and impossibly close. The mortician (played by Nima Sadr), enveloped in his quiet routine, emits a sense of isolation that's profoundly human. His world, a sanctuary of silence, is disturbed by the arrival of the dissident singer Jana (played by Gola), whose voice, even in hiding, carries the weight of longing, fear, and resistance. Their interactions, sparse yet electric, waltz between fragility and defiance.
What struck me most was how the film lingers on small gestures: a trembling hand, a sideways glance, the hush between words-revealing how connection can be born in stillness. The cinematography feels dreamlike: shadows drape the characters like memories, flickering between what is confided and what is withheld. There's a musicality in the silence, broken only by the singer's soft insistence: an emotional plea that breaks the mortician's solitude.
Kahani's choice to control every creative facet, from writing to editing, infuses the film with a terrifying intimacy. It's as if the narrative exists in the pauses, where what's unsaid is more powerful than spoken words. By the end, you don't just understand the mortician. You go on a journey feeling the weight of his solitude, the pull of compassion, and the tremor of hope that can exist even in darkness.
Mortifying deep, emotional, terrifying and real, this is not a film you watch; it's a film you live through, experience and become part of.
