Jesse Hoffmann

In Comma Boat, we're stuck in a mock-authoritarian fantasy--a power trip. The film centers around a director-character played by Trecartin who oscillates between feelings of omnipotence and self-doubt. As if a post-human, post-gendered reincarnation of the Fellini character in 8 ½, the director gloats and frets about professional and ethical transgressions. "I know I lied to get ahead," he admits at one point. "I've made up so many different alphabets just to get ahead in my field." The director is fancier now, but the fear nags that he might be "repeating" himself "like a dumb soldier ova and ova and ova and ova." The meta-connection to the artist's own career, while obvious, is also a decoy. All art, at some level, is about the artist. Here, reflexivity is the surface level, providing a decodable veneer that encases something more unsettling and complex. Single-channel and 3-channel versions.

Lorsque Rebecca retourne dans la maison de son grand-père, elle croise à nouveau le chemin de Thomas, son amour d'enfance. Celui-ci ne tarde pas à quitter sa petite-amie, Monica, et leur amour reprend là où il s'était arrêté jusqu'au jour où Thomas décède dans un accident de voiture. Dévastée, la jeune femme perd totalement goût à la vie avant de trouver consolation dans les possibilités que semblent offrir le clonage. Malgré le rejet moral et le scepticisme de la société envers ces pratiques encore incertaines, elle envisage de donner naissance à Thomas et ainsi ramener son amour perdu à la vie.

At a weeklong camp for teenage girls, a counselor leads the campers through a series of exercises that blend the language of female empowerment and body positivity with the kind of radical transparency that makes for good reality TV. The exercises culminate in a bizarre group confessional.

After being framed in a murder, Nick returns to his troubled hometown Exalon, where he begins an affair with a young man working at a family restaurant.