What does it mean to give everything to those you love? Heritage, directed by Iranian filmmaker Mir Mohammad Najafi, attempts to answer this with a quiet, intimate lens. Screening in the International Spectrum Competition at Hot Docs 2025, this 73-minute documentary follows Fariba, a woman in her sixties, as she cares for her aging parents—her mother with Alzheimer’s, her father increasingly frail. Shot entirely on a smartphone with almost no production crew, the film is a deeply personal and resourceful endeavor—but one that doesn’t fully escape the limits of its method.
The film’s biggest strength is its authenticity. Najafi captures scenes of everyday devotion with unfiltered emotional weight. Fariba’s exhaustion is palpable, especially in a confessional moment to her husband, where she breaks down under the strain of full-time caregiving. These moments resonate. Many will recognize the quiet burden of watching a loved one fade, and Heritage taps into that grief with sincerity. However, the film’s technical approach comes with trade-offs. While the low fidelity cinematography and simple compositions lend a certain intimacy, they also create limitations. The visuals are often flat, and the editing can feel haphazard—transitions between scenes are abrupt, occasionally undermining emotional continuity. For example, cutting from Fariba’s breakdown to a wide shot of her husband alone on a balcony feels disconnected and unresolved. There are stretches of silence that feel more like padding than reflection, and some scenes lack clear purpose, leaving viewers unsure of their emotional or narrative intent.
The observational style may be intentional, but at times it drifts into aimlessness. A tighter edit or more deliberate pacing would’ve allowed key emotional beats to land harder. Even the background sounds, while adding realism, occasionally distract more than immerse. That said, Heritage does find moments of understated humor—particularly in scenes with Fariba’s parents. During a birthday celebration, her mother’s repeated “I don’t know” responses to her husband’s questions create an absurd, strangely touching exchange that momentarily lifts the heaviness.
The final act offers no big catharsis, but gestures gently toward acceptance. There’s no resolution—only quiet resignation. For some, that will feel fitting. For others, it may seem like an emotional thread left loose. In the end, Heritage is more an act of love than of filmmaking finesse. Its flaws—technical roughness, uneven pacing, unclear transitions—are hard to ignore. But its honesty and emotional core give it a certain quiet power. It’s a film that asks a lot of its viewers: patience, empathy, and forgiveness for its imperfections. For those willing to give it, there’s something deeply profound waiting beneath the surface.
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