There is little dialogue in Weston Currie's first feature-length film, The Perception of Moving Targets-a segmenting ogling gaze into four neighboring homes-and for good reason. The film's elemental shots do not ruminate upon their subject matter, they don't attempt to code or decode their objects, nor do they harry the realm of depictions. Rather, they plunge from the depths of psychosis for the purpose of jarringly alerting us to our own fragile loneliness. It is a psychosis that erupts from terror, the terror that occurs in those harrowing instances when we find our private subconscious bleeding into the material of the day-to-day, the real. The characters steamroll through effable routine towards a state that cannot be articulated, cannot be contextualized, but are alternately frozen in or revitalized from sensory paralysis. The visions, which are accompanied (and inspired) by the songs of Grouper, coerce the viewer to enjoy Sublime experience: to plunge into a porous space where ...