‘Now you will see a film,’ says a close-up of a mouth with not much face to go with it. It’s a mouth that, though not floating so free from its body as the smile of the Cheshire Cat, recalls the disembodied mouth that speaks in Samuel Beckett’s Not I – a mouth that makes the identity of the one who says ‘I’ a lot less self-evident. In this film, however, we recognise the mouth and the voice with which it speaks as belonging to the picture-perfect girl with the straight blonde hair and pretty pink dress we’ve previously seen in a state of furious boredom hurling stones into a stream.