Inspired by a postcard that French critic Serge Daney sent director João César Monteiro in which he said, “I dreamt that John Wayne had a wonderful way of swinging his hips at the North Pole,” this singular piece of cinema ostensibly sees a director (Monteiro) putting on a production of an adaptation of August Strindberg’s novel Inferno. But with writing credits given to Pier Paolo Pasolini, Teixeira de Pascoaes, and André Breton alongside Strindberg and Monteiro, the levels of adaptation are unwieldy to the point of irrelevance—even Samuel Beckett is quoted for good measure. The dizzying layers of structure on display are playfully implemented as we see a dance between the the characters of the play and the actors who portray them off stage in this rigorous and indescribable film that Film Comment called, “a kind of cinephile transubstantiation orgy in which thought becomes flesh becomes celluloid.”