A MAN WALKS TO A DESK. He sits, lights a cigarette. Following this, another scene, which appears to be from a different film. Cigarette still in hand, the man smiles, turns away from the viewer—deflecting our gaze, our knowing. Our eyes drift between scenes—each either resembling or differing from the one that preceded it. Memories of this famous actor, the ever-suave Tony Leung Chiu Wai, intrude upon our vision (Didn’t I see him in . . . ?), only for us to sink back into the never-ending cascade of images. Who is this character? Was the turn or flick of his cigarette a feint, or a moment of betrayal? Beginning in familiarity, we recede into a mist of unknowing.