Unruled Paper

Jahāngir, a draughtsman who may be an architect by trade, is shown living a life that feels choreographed as much as ordinary. Roya, his wife, is a housewife who has begun a scriptwriting course at his encouragement. Their daily reality is gently teased into something performative as Roya crafts bedtime tales for their children Shangul and Mangul, hinting that life itself might be a story.

The kids emerge as imaginative, theatrically inclined figures who blur the line between life and story. Roya's storytelling becomes a shared ritual that echoes the fable-like mood of their world.

The film's opening scenes focus on precise, documentary-like attention to ordinary space and time in the couple's life. This patient, quiet cadence invites viewers to listen for what lies beneath everyday conversation.

The heart of the drama shifts when Jahāngir reveals that what began as building a villa on an island is, in fact, a prison compound on that same island. The revelation reframes his ambitions as a private project shaped by restriction and control.

Roya questions her husband's past and private ambitions, turning their dialogue into a test of trust and transparency. The exchange isn't merely a quarrel; it feels like a rehearsal for a script they might both be writing for their family.

A pivotal voice, the professor of literature (played by Jamshid Mashayekhi), offers reflective, worldly observations. His presence grounds private domestic drama in a meditation on time, art, and free will.

The film treats conversations as philosophical experiments about how people choose to live. It invites the audience to imagine different possibilities and to consider how memory and desire shape decisions. These dialogues attempt to map the border between truth and impression within the couple's space.

In a late scene, a knife slides from the table to the floor and is seized from opposite sides of the room. Jahāngir grabs the handle while Roya takes the other edge, a ritualized act that marks trust, vulnerability, and shared danger.

Roya's mother, portrayed by Jamileh Sheikhi, threads the narrative through the domestic sphere. She anchors the family in intimate ties that persist alongside the public questions of truth and storytelling. Her presence keeps the focus on how memory and tradition influence the couple's choices.

The design, pacing, and rendering of ordinary rooms give every corner weight beyond the moment. The film insists that spaces, breaths, and pauses carry meaning in the evolving tension between memory, imagination, and responsibility.

The story probes whether life is a continuous negotiation between the stories we tell and the truths we live. It suggests memory and imagination act as engines of meaning when time seems still.

The conclusion lingers without a decisive answer, leaving room for interpretation. It hints that the room, the family, and the story will continue to shift with light, memory, and choice. The film invites viewers to carry forward the questions it raises about truth, storytelling, and freedom.