Jon Jost's first feature-length film exists as a series of titled segments, each one inching closer to the man at the center, Jon Jost. The first sequence involves the geographical world in which the man lives and prefigures the film's form, a progressive move towards specificity. Speaking Directly then proceeds to pinpoint Jost's exact location within a political, social, sexual and economic matrix. Thus, the film is a deflected self-portrait in which Jost reveals the details and convictions of his life. But, more importantly, it is a man-made construct that considers the viewer's spectatorial desires, as well as the filmmaker's privilege. Jost continually escalates between levels of exposition, from the private to the public, from the personal to the historical. And along this escalator ride, the viewer is prodded to evaluate the pull of the cinematic apparatus, a tug-of-war in a vast American mythology. Sometimes Jost's concern is deceptively democratic: one segment has a blank screen, except for a red stop watch which is suddenly whisked away by a disembodied hand. The viewer's moment of contemplation is offered then withdrawn. But, generally, when he is Speaking Directly, Jost's anti-illusionist voice is clear and honest.