Nazer, who emigrated to Scotland from his native Iran, encapsules the overwhelming issue of authoritarianism that has blanketed much of Iran’s cultural landscape into two words that comprise the film’s title --- without permission. Even before we see a single footage, Nazer lays the entire issue --- the entire film has been made under compelling limitations due to the inability to acquire official permissions to shoot. We hear dialogue that is unaccompanied still by any footage, of government bureaucracy, of what could be a traveler being sternly interviewed by an immigrations officer. The first thing we see is the face of a man as he narrates about his marital woes. This is followed abruptly by a scene that could have been plucked out of an Abbas Kiarostami film. A car drives through fields of grass and electricity poles, with the driver, a filmmaker, and his female passenger talking about how they will navigate shooting their film notwithstanding not having permission. Their solution is by shooting discreetly, filming a cast of kids in a cellar. Moreover, in the filmmaker’s  own words, his film “is not political.” This is where Nazer shows his genius. On the surface, the storylines explored in Without Permission avoid overt trappings of politics. While every now and then, the consequences of a deeply patriarchal and famously controlling government regime are discussed, Nazer expertly steers the discourse towards more mundane and personal matters, from the diverse views of Iranian children on love and romance to the desperate pleas of a wife trapped in a suffocating marriage. It almost seems like Nazer is purposely putting a spotlight not on the sensational, which seems to be the most logical things to do given the very literal title, but on the inconsequential stuff, the everyday things that are part and parcel of Iranian life. In doing so, Nazer drives a point that disproves his filmmaker character’s excuse for his filming without permission. Film is always political. In fact, given how ideas flow and are exchanged, given how innocent minds can still develop stories of passion, given how jealousy can jumpstart a comedy of errors, nothing escapes the grasp of politics. Without Permission bravely poses worthy questions on the issue of control, manifested in the film not just by the government with its stubborn need to give its consent to any form of expression, but also by fathers on their children’s creativity and by husbands on their wives’ yearning for self determination. It masterfully criticizes Iran’s stifling regime by way of its decades-old practice of regulating the arts, pushing forth a storyline that allows children from various backgrounds to broadcast themselves and become filmmakers themselves, brainstorming with the director as to how scenes are to be shot, what costumes are to be worn, and how love stories are to be shaped. As a result, it also exposes the futility of the regime’s dogged desire to silence, that notwithstanding its relentless policing, the children themselves are evidence that culture is unstoppable, with pop songs freely crossing borders, foreign influences trumping internal pressures, and well, personal fantasies being birthed out of sheer innocence of youth.