Eleven-year-old Niaz is the only child of a widowed Pashtun veteran of the Soviet-Afghan war, one of those soldiers lionized in the West as Russian-rousting “freedom fighters.” That is, until September 11, when they were transformed into cave-dwelling, Kalashnikov-toting Taliban. The father, a strict Muslim, insists that his reluctant son help him make and test firearms. Niaz would rather listen to music and get an education, but his father needs an assistant-one errand includes delivering bullets and hashish to Grandpa. Besides, Father hates madrassas because they are targets of the Western world. When he's not being tormented by bullies, Niaz is inspired by a kite-flying poet in a refugee camp who encourages him to pursue an education-after all, the Prophet said, “If gaining knowledge requires you to travel as far as China, then simply go.” Niaz's uncle, who accidentally shot a playmate and was banished to Peshawar, tries to persuade his brother to sign the school application. But Niaz loses patience and strikes out on his own. This sensitively and beautifully shot directorial debut by Australian Benjamin Gilmour follows its appealing nonprofessional cast through the harsh, lovely terrain of the remote North West Frontier Province of Pakistan, where the sound of gunfire echoes in the hills and children getting hit by falling bullets is not an unusual occurrence. The men's conversations in barbershops, teahouses, and classrooms, as well as a worrisome visit to the dentist, offer a rare glimpse into a community easily demonized by Islamophobia.