This film is from the point of view of a cameraman following a young woman through the streets of a city. He chases her down an alley and knocks her over, in a symbolic form of video assault. No dialogue.
In the same vanguard of avant-cinema as Ernie Gehr and Ken Jacobs and Michael Snow, Yoko Ono, along with John Lennon, creates a most irregular surprise in Fly. Sort of a deviant crooked smile, nod and wink to surrealism, Ono's film, though maligned by many (as she herself was when it came to many a Beatles fan), is by far one of the albeit queerest pieces of experimental cinema this side of the Lower East Side. Perfectly attuned, even during Ms. Ono's rather off-pitch fly noises-cum-soundtrack, this film needs to find a place amongst the rest of the underground cinema masterworks such as Snow's Wavelength, Gehr's Serene Velocity and Jacob's Tom, Tom the Piper's Son. Nineteen minutes of pure heteromorphic deeelight.
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