Self-referential, of course; a film about a film, yet it's not film but zeros and ones. Some pretentious crap about avant-garde Russians cutting film into cheese, educating the audience to synthesize the dialectic and lots of pretty women kissing. A dream in four dimensions.
One continuous shot is what it took, and it was the gun which shot out of the movie and stalled my stereo. Synchronicity is what Figgis was looking for, and I'd say it worked. Not a split second before or after, the tape deck feeding from the sound card got shot, reversed, and started again. Bravo!