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Lenz returns to Paris to find his only true love, Madeleine. As his search for her continues, he finds himself getting sucked into the dark and cruel underworld of the porn industry.

In the second part of the trilogy on anxiety (in continuation of White Epilepsy), the only light source that reflects on the screen is the naked human body. Its surface, full of bones and muscles, flexes and vibrates in a frantic rhythm. The livelier the reflection, the deeper a viewer feels his/her mortality, as he recognizes between the convulsions the forces he/she cannot control.

A body as a return from the depths of time, an archaic body that we do not know and which nevertheless continues to project in us its shadow, its anxiety.

In faint light, a body slowly moves, breaking out from total darkness. Then a second body, a woman. Dream or nightmare? Archaic or essential? Desire or struggle? A journey through the night and the light to the confines of sense and vision. They are ghosts - do they really exist? A film like a dream or a nightmare. In the middle of a forest, two naked bodies, those of a man and a woman, perform a very slow and hideous choreography. It looks like an age-old ritual about domination and submission. The male ghost withdraws, but the woman doesnt let him go: she throws herself at him. Philippe Grandrieux, the maker of Sombre (1999) and countless other films, often experimental, shows the ceremonial wrestling in slow motion, with the bodies sometimes seeming no more than a collection of muscles, tendons and pale flesh, as in paintings by Francis Bacon. Apart from being terrifying and violent, the dance occasionally looks sensual.

Grandrieux pays an homage to Masao Adachi, a Japanese filmmaker with a turbulent past and now a recluse in his homeland, creating a portrait of this man always faithful in its very own way.