Sequence One

Certainly impressionistic, occasionally unfocused, full of artistic imagery, Alan Brown's little film doesn't say much. Like something crawling towards the Turner Prize, it speaks with pictures that contain deeply personal statements for those who understand the language of confusion.

Whatever else, it poses the question, "Is art dead?" The answer comes back, "Not yet." Although its direction remains in doubt.

There is another fear, of course. "Does the director know what he's doing?" Aficionados of the new nihilism would argue that making sense of chaos is a bourgeois imperative and, therefore, worthless. What matters is the act itself. "What act?" That of creation.

A film is a film is not a fish. It all makes sense, really.

"Really?"