How would it feel to pick up a box of cereal and not know why you did it, or what you can do with it? Or to be in your own home and yet want to go back home? That's how someone afflicted with Alzheimer's feels, every minute of every day. That is what Away From Her, the directorial debut of actress Sarah Polley, is all about. Fiona Anderson (Christie) insists on being admitted to a home before her condition worsens. This leaves Grant (Pinsent), her husband of 45 years, in a unique predicament. Not only does he have to face loneliness after more than half his life, but also deal with the possibility of being forgotten as his Fiona falls in love with a co-patient Aubrey.

Set in Ontario, Canada, this almost all-Canadian film is about love, loss and acceptance. The best thing about this film is its screenplay. Adapted from a short story by Alice Munro, Polley does an amazing job of creating layers to her writing, so as to make it neither monotonous nor predictable. In fact, the fantastic climactic scene may even confuse the novice about the end, but the pathos injected is so natural, it transcends the realms of reel.

As a story, Away From Her is essentially a tragedy, but the definition of romance is very cleverly altered, as Grant makes his love about giving. Gordon Pinsent does an amazing job, with a restrained underplayed performance, in a role which would've been severely damaged, by overdone histrionics. His is perhaps the most challenging role in the film, and he carries it off with aplomb. The Grant Anderson he creates is loving, dedicated, devoted, possessive, jealous, and overbearingly ridden by guilt. They say that most of acting is about reacting. In this movie, a large amount of scope is given to reacting, and wonderful performances are thus elicited.

Meadowlake is shown as a top-line facility, and it resonates with authenticity, right from the steel-nerved apathetic administrators (kudos to Crewson and Thomas), and in sharp contrast, Polley indulges metaphors in the depiction of the Andersons' house, set amidst the snow. Certain flashback scenes, though succumbing to cliché of shaky, home video effects, are beautiful. Life is like walking through the snow, and having Alzheimer's is like having to do it in a haze. Frank's early adultery, the hidden layers of friction and guilt in a seemingly perfect relationship, Fiona's enigmatic demeanor, Nurse Kristy's painfully frank attitude, all display a crystal understanding of human relationships, and research all way beyond the young 26 years of the director, or her lack of experience as a writer.

The performances by the supporting cast are appropriately relegated to the sidelines in the larger scope, but they remain important and effective. Notable amongst these is Academy Award Winner Olympia Dukakis, who plays Marian, the jaded wife of an invalid husband, with the necessary bitterness and cynicism to lend it authenticity and impact.

The biggest trump card of all is, predictably, Julie Christie. In a role written for her, Christie fits perfectly in the skin of the scared, unsure, yet independent and brave Fiona. Polley did well to insist that Christie play this part, for if she had refused this role, like many she did in her prime, movie watchers everywhere would have missed the brilliance she exudes. There is a scene where Fiona asks Grant how she looked. He replies, "Same as always. Direct and vague, sweet and ironic." One could easily add regal to this astute description, as Christie still looks like a queen, and has the aura to carry it off.

Technically, being an independent film, Away From Her is shot intimately, with no filters, mainly in natural light, straight angles, and cozy frames. But all of this works for it, and cinematographer Luc Montpellier deserves mention for this. The sound design as well, while not being elaborate, has a very nice exactness to it.

No movie is perfect, but for the subject matter, Polley's execution is damn near close to being it. It isn't often that you come out of a cinema, resolve to never watch the film again, and yet know that you've experienced something you could never regret. Away From Her is that kind of cinema. I haven't read The Bear Came Over a Mountain, but I daresay even Munro would be proud of this movie. And that's the biggest compliment one could give to an adapted movie.

The daughter of the East died, screamed headlines. Blame Musharraf, the first instinctual idea that cropped into millions of heads. Who will lead next? The perennially paranoid PPP was in crisis mode. What happens to the elections, the people wanting democracy wondered. Where do we fit in, thought America as it tried to find itself a role. Is this good or bad, should we be happy or sad, ruminated India as she sat dazed and confused. And how many millions exactly are you offering for a 20 second spot during the Benazir assassination coverage, the news channels asked the advertisers.

Many of these questions got answered in subsequent days. Musharraf, in a move of apparent damage control brought in the Scotland Yard to clear his name and the shady cover ups that get associated with him. Bilawal Bhutto, not yet twenty, studying in Oxford inherited the throne of archaic dynastic politics. America was in no uncertain terms asked to butt out, by most of the world, and the very critical media. Elections did get scheduled, albeit a bit delayed, and the projection of chaos in a nation on the verge of a second emergency in three months weakened. The news coverage reduced, the advertisers breathed both a sigh of relief and a breath of disappointment. And everyone forgot to ask one question. Who won?

Politics they say, is a game. Someone has to win, for someone to lose. On 27^th December, 2007, Benazir Bhutto, two time former Prime Minister, young (by political standards), outspoken, flashy and brazen, a charismatic almost ‘stateswoman’, lost. Who won on that day? Nobody seems bothered by the dynamics of this question, nor by the implications it has on future Pakistani and world politics.

In the aftermath of the Bhutto assassination, the biggest setback came straight to the man whom they all blamed for her death, Musharraf. Whilst everyone said, behind closed doors or in open forums, that Musharraf directly, or his government and its policies were responsible for the gruesome act, nobody thought to wonder why? Actus reus everyone screamed, but mens rea? Whilst accrediting him directly or otherwise for this crime, nobody realized that logically he did not have a guilty mind, or a mens rea. According to popular criminal law, actus non facit reum nisi mens sit re, which means that the act doesn’t make a person guilty unless the mind is also guilty. For Musharraf, Bhutto’s return was good news. While she did make statements about getting more power than him, and leading Pakistan, by herself to new heights, she was also the only leader to be brokering deals with him. For him, Bhutto was a good thing. In fact, he had only recently given up his uniform and was looking for popular acceptance. Bhutto was going to give him that. Why would he kill the goose that was about to lay his golden egg?

It would be wrong to level accusations, and I do not care to do that. It would be stupid to presume to understand a situation without being involved in it. I wouldn’t dare to do that. However, as the eye sees it, and the mouth speaks it, the two, in fact, the ONLY two significant gainers from Bhutto’s assassination are two of the most vocal anti-Musharraf commentators. Asif Ali Zardari, the widower of Late Benazir Bhutto, finally emerged from the dark shadows cast by Benazir’s colossal political frame, and found people willing to embrace him immediately. The former ten percent man did the apparently magnanimous thing, and chose not to lead the PPP officially. Instead, he named Benazir’s true successor, her 19 year old son at Oxford as the PPP Chairman. Himself, he then satisfied with a purely executive position. That would remind you of a certain Mrs. Gandhi, now wouldn’t it, and we all know how that move turned out for her. Of course, a lot has yet to be said, and a long way of determining the truth has to be endured before any conclusion can be reached.

The other person to profit (pardon the crassness of the word) from Bhutto’s end is her once bitter rival, now apparent ally Nawaz Sharif. The exiled former PM of Pakistan is a comeback kid and how. He made several attempts to return to Pakistan, very famously being turned away from the airport even, and quietly, without much pomp, claimed to have joined hands with Bhutto to fight the surge of injustice that was the Musharraf coup and subsequent reign. Bhutto’s sudden death places Sharif at the top of the heap, and he can’t really be sad about that, can he? The only other leader besides Bhutto, who enjoyed a national presence, the calming force for a nation in turmoil, the familiar face for voters. The nicer adjective phrases seem to be used for Sharif now. Enjoying the support of Zardari, who doesn’t seem likely to be interested in becoming PM just yet, Sharif is poised to become the big boy of Pakistani politics. Something that would have been unlikely if Bhutto, her Oxford-Harvard charms, and her international acceptance, had remained active in this drama. One would really doubt that things could have possibly turned out better for him.

And yet, the bad boy is Musharraf. Everyone’s guns are leveled at his weathered temple. This is not an endorsement of Musharraf’s innocence. God knows he has his faults, his hunger for power, his ruthlessness; but everyone has faults, even Bhutto. However, politics is like a game of king-of-the-hill. The eventual winner is the one on top. There is bound to be scrambling, pushing others off, and trying to be king. Bhutto can no longer be king, and some say, neither can Musharraf. After an act of this proportion there is hardly any doubt that someone will take the heat. Someone will have to become the Lee Harvey Oswald of this time. The reason, the cause, the motivation, the explanation however, will unlikely be ever afforded to us. Yes, someone will eventually be king-of-the-hill! At what cost though? One can only wonder.