There’s a scene in Ellen Cantor’s Pinochet Porn where a sad clown sits forlornly on a grubby Manhattan stoop. A lilac dot falls from her costume; she dolefully sticks it back on. It’s a tiny moment that may or may not be accidental, but it feels like a poignant little microcosm of hope, failure and sadness. Other snippets in the film’s sprawling two-hour journey include horrific piles of Holocaust victims’ corpses; the Twin Towers falling; a woman in a French maid…
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