I must admit that, at the end of the movie, my eyes moistened behind my glasses. I didn’t want my wife to see. So I surreptitiously made out to scratch my chin while, at the same time, nudged my fingers a little higher so that they wiped away as much of the tears as they could. I risked a glimpse in her direction and figured her eyes must have been watching a different film because they were as dry as the Kalahari. She said she saw the film as manipulative. But, then again, I love poetry. I appreciate a good manipulation.