An 11-minute tape focused on greenish night-vision textures and certain high-camp performance values, organized around a dysfunctional family "celebrating" several birthdays. We see an elderly woman in apparent dementia staring as her "party" goes on around her, squares of blood-red sheet cake passed around the bedside. Monologue fragments purvey tragic bitchitude, wherein any birthday is a mere occasion for embarrassment and cruelty. ("I'd rather have a root canal," says one woman, than attend the party to which she just wheedled an invite.) Amidst the lo-fi green of the night photography we see fireworks, driving shots, a loose confederation of atmospheric images that, in concert, dip the viewer into a zone of squalor and anxiety. The Three Ravens trades in ugly, disturbing emotions in a light, even frothy manner.
