Brackhage, Kindering (1987) Could there be a less sentimental way to view grandchildren? The distant singsong voice is creepy. The wavy anamorphic lens makes it feel more like a funhouse than a home movie. When the camera hides in the shrubs, I feel for certain that Brackhage is linking everyone with a home video camera to stalker-like behavior. The film, coming in right under 3 minutes, ends with the boy slapping a swingset with a toy whip. Why not get on the swing instead? Let's go back to the negative projection of moth wings.

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