There's something oddly familiar about Forman's first feature-length outing. Perhaps it's because of the present-day lines of bleating hopefuls anxious to be discovered on American Idol or one of its ilk. But Forman's grand “audition” is after something else: a sly look at generational chafing. In the lengthier segment of this diptych, young women congregate at the Semafor Theater, waiting their turn to croon for the cabaret impresarios; the undulating mass of rustic beauties is captured in a free-flowing verité style. Announcing the generational rift are ample references to western rock 'n' roll pushing out the strains of polka. The other episode observes two brass bands, made up mostly of older traditionalists, rehearsing for a festival competition. Tension surfaces when two younger players skip out to watch a nearby motorcycle race. Forman sides with youth, insinuating a sympathetic plot line in this seeming documentary. You can see why it's said that Forman's actors are almost as good as his non-actors.