A master of shadow and light, sparse and simple settings, and integrating Middle Eastern music for effect, Mohsen Makhmalbaf creates a poignant portrait of a desperate Afghani well digger in The Cyclist (Bicycleran). Opening with some beautifully constructed claustrophobic circular images of a motorcyclist stunt, the camera reveals Nasim's (Moharram Zaynalzadeh) preoccupation over his seriously ill wife. The hospital refuses to continue treatment unless he can come up with payment, so Nasim is willing to do anything to save his wife, including faking a suicide to draw attention to his plight.

When a black market scheme falls through, an alternate plan is proposed: Having been a bicycling endurance champion in Afghanistan by riding for three consecutive days, an Iranian businessman proposes a mini-circus starring Nasim as a literal one-circle act to ride for seven consecutive days. This is even more brutal than the scenario in They Shoot Horses Don't They, since Nasim must do everything while riding without a break—urinating into test tubes and propping toothpicks in his eyes to keep awake.

As in Sydney Pollock's 1969 film about marathon dancers, the outside world affects the proceedings without regard to the participant's welfare. Spectators pay for admission to watch Nasim surrealistically circle a small town square and learn about his dire straits, complete with a self-appointed motivational speaker who uses Nasim's example to teach uplifting lessons about Life. More downtrodden citizens and other Afghani immigrants flock to the sideshow to gain false hopes for their own plights, while street vendors exploit the attraction for selfish benefit. The businessman who sets up the endurance contest makes significant money on the mini-circus but can earn bigger bucks through betting. And it turns out that many in the crowd have their own wagers going and will do whatever they can to ensure their own financial victory.

Although the camera does nice work getting inside Nasim's thoughts with dream imagery of his son falling into the well and of his wife's desperate fight for life, Makhmalbaf doesn't achieve the same intimacy here that he later does in The Silence or Kandahar. The narrative doesn't always flow as smoothly either, with a few editing cuts that are jarring and out of tempo with the generally languid pace.

Makhalbaf wisely shifts points of view to show the motivations behind the various minor characters, supplying some quietly comic moments, like the scene in which the doctor who demands that the nurse give Nasim a sedative to knock him out of competition ends up drinking it instead. I'm no fan of NASCAR races and can't imagine a more boring spectacle than watching vehicles of any kind circle a track endlessly, so I'm glad that Makhalbaf shifts points of view throughout—the film just doesn't get under the hero's psyche to reveal deeper motivations than the obvious ones.

Makhmalbaf's claustrophobic atmosphere and recurring circular imagery add to a theme about the banality of a routine life. And despite the unending repetition and misery of daily existence, there remains hope for better days. This is no American style "feel good" film, however, and will not set well with audiences that demand neatly tied endings, but foreign film buffs expect nothing less.

Although The Cyclist doesn't rank as Makhmalbaf's best film, the camerawork and beautifully constructed story demonstrate that this Iranian director is worth watching. Actually, I could recommend this film on the basis of the cinematography alone—just those shots of the Iranian desert sun peering into the well and into the marketplace are worth the price of the video.