With just a few choice gewgaws and couple of chiffon scarves, he's turned a toughie's lair into a boudoir. Lee isn't particularly interested in violence, and is equally lackadaisical about structure or major themes. All he wants to do is get us high on pictures, and he does a good job. Later in the same sequence we see the two fighting in stark silhouette against a white wall, a shadow play that's both funny and exotically beautiful. As their furor escalates, one uproots a TV antenna and uses it as a jousting stick, jabbing it at the other, a puppet-theater fighting tactic that's both gorgeous and goofy.
Several killers wait in a car, watching the steps for their mark.
The light around them shifts eerily, changing the hue of the bright mustard-gold dried leaves scattered near the car's tires. There's a storm coming. The rain starts, beating down in bright pellets rather than drops. Through it, the victim sees his murderer at the last possible moment, but neither he nor we see the knife. There are very few women characters here.