Starting as a lament to her deceased rat terrier, Laurie Anderson’s eccentric, erudite essay-film flits and meanders to some unexpected places, from an eerily transporting explanation of the Buddhist view of death to some astonishing childhood anecdotes to an absurd scene of her blind dog playing the piano. If there’s a common thread, it’s storytelling and memory – “Every time we tell a story, we forget it more,” is one nugget of wisdom – but it’s an aural experience as much as a visual one. Anderson’s hushed, mellifluous voice and shifting electronic compositions merge with the treated stream-of-consciousness imagery to powerful, often poignant effect. It’s less like a lecture than a waking dream, perhaps even a form of hypnosis.
