A still from the film, The Salesman

With certain rare movies, like it is with people, or relationships, you may forget what they were actually like. What you cannot help but live with is what they did to you. Or how they made you feel. For me, 123 minutes of Asghar Farhadi's A Separation (2011) will hardly be as much about its plot per se, as the memory of staggering alone out of my quiet bedroom, walking around the hall, with slight emptiness in my head, soaking in an experience so subtle and internalised that it could only be equated with, if not elevated to, literary fiction.