Will Wheaton as Icarus descending? He exists cast in glass as if cat's eye in a marble. In this role he is any one of my former friends who have ceased communication. The light attaches to them even when there is little of it to be had. Watching him is like watching the past pretending to the future and failing, fading at it as the past always does and as our friends will do. There is a dove cradled in his hands. Yes, it is a metaphor. It's obviousness insults us, but watch his face here. I only watch the film on pause. That way it doesn't disappoint catastrophe or change. We all exist like this, crystallized in flash memory, stored on somebody's camera that they lost late into the party, like a disposed of in the trash and pressed down to landfill that will be found a hundred thousand years from now, like all of our collected layers, skin, slips, leftovers, defibrillators, pacemakers, and other heart accessories, clock radios reading out against the stink, the darkness, blasting gangster rap and disintegrating under base. Wheaton is not important. He's a wedge and a crack and the weight of all balls pressing on it. He, like the images, is barely readable. If you look close, you'll see an e-chile, a dash of light against all that other light, wailing out of everything.