"Por fim, todos preferem dormir como uma pedra do que dormir como um cadáver, e nunca mais acordar para ver a luz do sol".
Establishes an interesting parallel between cinephilia as an escape and political apathy. Yet renders any discussion sterile and infuriating by constantly indulging himself (the filmmaker) and condemning everyone around.
Also, most of the images here are just LITERAL illustrations of what is being said by the narrator - and not in a playful way. I just can't stand a film that takes itself and the world so seriously and yet feels the need to show the image of a leg everytime the narrator says the word leg.
People that are long gone, who's only trace left of their existences are their moving images, rotting away inside an old tin can in some basement. But the decaying images are saved by an artist from the future, and the broken promise of immortality that comes with being filmed is renewed: they are now to live on, distorted in a way that is as beautiful as it is unsettling, stuck halfway into oblivion, their bodies shred to pieces and put together again 24 times per second. But it's all worth it at the slight chance of, this time around, reaching eternity.