Spalding Gray, a performance artist with the delivery of a highly skilled snake-oil salesman, sits at a small wooden table, with microphone, notebook, and glass of water, and a couple of roll-down maps within arm's reach, and a cloudscape projected intermittently on a screen in the rear. And for an hour and a half he monologizes on his experiences in Thailand as a bit-player in The Killing Fields, and on related matters. And Jonathan Demme records it on film. Every now and then the light fades or the camera position changes, but the results of all this do little to boost Demme's stature as a maker of movies. What's boosted, and what seems to be more important to him, is his stature as a man of hipness. Laurie Anderson (who better?) supplies the music. (1987) — Duncan Shepherd
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