A retrospective, auto-reflexive film essay on the victims of the filmmaker, their subjects taken under duress. Images wrestling with their own contradictions, doubting the validity of their amalgam. What does 'reconciliation' mean when linked with reproductions? It's all bullshit; a beautiful, affecting bullshit. Nothing has a nicer smell. I cannot help but feel as though I have no place here. Reappropriations of appropriations, lending nothing to recourse except, maybe, unveiling a bit of the violence through translucent positionality. After all, the camera and the gun so often are linked.