
Let it B.
THE MOVIE SCREEN IS A blatant mass of mute chiaroscuro locked in a long shot, a motley interior suggesting lives better left for dead. Suddenly something stirs and the frame is filled with an obstruction: a fuzzy mass of parameciumlike tendencies making mincemeat of narrative figuration. And then the music starts, or some kind of blaring, bleating, jazzlike emanation, as zanily abstract and totally treble as the image it accompanies. This is not some piece of lint stuck in the projector, not a soupçon of art-film technique, but simply the back of a head leaning into the camera: another trick