“Taxi,” which won the top prize at the Berlin Film Festival in February, takes up some of the same themes. It’s playful and thoughtful, informed by the director’s affable, patient, slightly worried demeanor. His kind face is almost always on screen, but he’s not a self-conscious presence like, say, Woody Allen (whose name is dropped) or Nanni Moretti. He’s a regular guy going about his day. What does it take to be a filmmaker? Maybe just curiosity, compassion and open eyes.

A camera, too, of course. Which hardly counts as special equipment these days. In “Taxi,” everybody has one, and the conceit of the movie is that its auteur is a humble cabdriver with a camera mounted on the dashboard of his car. He’s not really trying to fool anyone. Mr. Panahi is well known enough to be recognized by some of his passengers, most of whom may not really be passengers at all, but people he has cajoled into playing versions of themselves. A lot of what we see seems contrived. But then again, a lot of it seems spontaneous. It’s almost impossible to tell the difference until the brilliant final shot. But can you even call it a “shot” when the camera has been left running by accident?