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By Flick Harrison | September 18, 2003

In this third installment of his “addiction” trilogy, Verow’s stylism is taken to its logical apex: harsh yet hot, confusing yet smooth, disjointed and wicked. I loved it. I think I had more arguments about this film than any other at the festival; few others really “got” it. That, my friends, is the raison d’être of low-budget digital filmmaking: you don’t need a mass audience! Get it?! Go to the front of the class! The story follows Danielle (Devery Doleman) and her sexual/drunken escapades in Cape Cod. There’s a narrative of sorts, but that’s not the point. The point is our vicarious peek at her little thrills which aren’t particularly outlandish, but which are depicted in such visceral detail as to blur the boundary of performance and documentary, and which carve out her character in 10-foot-high letters of fire. Her husband Vincent (Eric Sapp), who has wavered between buggin’ and provin’ through three features, crowns himself king here with a whacked reaction to Danielle’s infidelity. This is where filmmaking of the future will explode: improvisation and raw cutting, intensely voyeuristic realism and no gray-suited Board of Directors to yammer “But what happens? What happens?” Verow is not afraid to do his own thing; don’t be afraid to watch it.

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