Synopsis
"Moments chosen for nuclear annihilation... where are you going to run to?" Working in his beloved 16mm (with an acoustic blues song on the soundtrack), the filmmaker answers his own apocalyptic question with seductive snippets of a relative rocking on the porch; horses bounding in free-spirited pleasure; a shirtless, smoking hunk eyeing the camera; a young woman working out a tune on the piano; a Sunday family meal. Nothing particularly profound, mind you, unless it all vanished in a flash of heat and hydrogen. - Michael Fox
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