So here I am in Seattle, at my hotel room desk, with a martini in my hand, languidly lighting a cigarette and beginning to write my review of this film when suddenly I am awakened by a picture on the wall which changes form and then I am in Jamaica, on the beach, with my paramour who loves me but I don't trust this love, I don't know why, I just feel odd. . .and then I'm on the roof of my hotel in Seattle, wanting to jump because I can't think of the proper words to describe the utter futility of the film I've just seen and the birds swoop down and I awaken in the woods, drinking voodoo tea and there are drums, jungle type drums and my lover is veering toward me and the gun is in my hands and I. . .
Review of Shattered Image
