This movie is something of a game of chess against a subject, a particularly fleshy man, from a lower or infantile perspective. I say fleshy because Brakhage's particular focus is a tactile or haptic love for waxen grooves and curves of the man's hands, face, eyes, etc. The chess doesn't matter as much--it's the movement of the pieces by these remarkable and beautiful hands that matters, and the movement of the movie through the experience of these movements. Again, it is not like Brakhage is making a narrative, but on the other hand, this one feels like there's a story behind it.
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