The body is subjected to the machinery of cinema: the violence of montage, the technological intelligence that describes every human act in its ritual quality. The anodyne environments become scenes of black magic: the computer, the kitchen, the operating room, the film laboratory, the gymnasium, the home. When the image stutters, the random gesture becomes compulsion, the repressed desire corrodes the inner lining of life framed in perfection. No act is innocent, the world is alien to the stillness. The cinema, that “secret pact between light and darkness” upsets the soul of things.
A seemingly simple but sinister reflection about the power of the text: the Unabomber manifesto is subjected to the self-correcting function of Microsoft Word, evoking the violence that underlies the words detected.
A cascade of images edited frame by frame flows towards an allegory of the lunar cycle.
Doubt is a shadow that haunts a doctor and his assistants, who in a strange ritual, succumb to the territory of abject violence and inherit the disease they suspect is death.
The objects, spaces, and knowledge that dwell in the laboratory of the Churubusco Studies of Mexico City come to life.
Vera is a character created in the time it took to animate a spider’s web, thinking of the song Mississippi Mud by Bix Beiderbecke.
Self-defense techniques repeated at the glacial rhythm of a distorted pop song, Just the Way You Are. In the strange choreography, violence and complementarity merge; the movement senses the promise of a dance.
Described by the critic Ernest Callenbach as “a long and shrill belching in the face of the American home.” Nelson and Wiley undermine the sanitized image of domestic life, motherhood, and marriage, revealing the hidden impulses that lie behind everyday rituals.