While in Algeria documenting the Pan-African Cultural Festival, William Klein met Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver, a fugitive living in exile. This film, the product of “three days and three nights . . . with hashish floating out the window,” is a strategically tactful portrait of a militant who relished his own outlaw gestures. “If I thought you were an agent, I'd pull my gun and take your motherfucking camera,” says the untamed subject. Klein fires back by clipping Cleaver's political diatribes, which careen toward cacophony. Whether wandering the streets of Algiers as perplexed locals look on or visiting dignitaries at the North Vietnamese embassy, the pontificating Panther unreels his revolutionary critique with guerilla gusto. Klein further breaches the barrage with newsreels that offer an abbreviated history of the Black Panther Party. As analytic as he was angry, Cleaver was a threat to white America not because he was packin' but because his rap was of the highest caliber.