With dark typewriter font printed on bright red card stock, this little book looks pretty snazzy. Adding to this over-all fancy appearance is the fake ostrich skin cover that’s held together by a fine red string. I found it a bit awkward to hold, but nothing to get too ruffled up about. The story is split into two parts. First off Tretiak throws us into the midst of a Hollywood nightclub. The year is 1921 and we’re privy to a weird artsy-porno-orgy type of scene, – a shaky plot involving an absent producer and his always silent drag queen partner. Next thing you know Tretiak shifts into the second part. It’s now 1997 and we’re standing on the set of a low budget film in Vancouver. There are marmots fornicating under trailers and a strange relationship is shaping up between the film’s director and its principal actor. This part of the story is all about how the director is using cameras to find the stories that lurk hidden beneath the scripted plot. This nicely comments on what is going on in this little book. I’m especially fond of the obsessive dynamics that emerge from the director-actor relationship: “Well I guess I always feel the camera on me– even when I’m certain that he’s not filming. But I can never quite imagine the position he’s viewing me from.” Smart, not boring, would’ve liked it to be even a little longer. (Audrey Gagnon)
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