An old man stumbles down a dark staircase towards the camera. He weaves downward in in a skewed and graceless trajectory. His three-piece suit is stretched taut across his bulging stomach and a horsehair moustache sits on his thin lip at an unnatural angle. Once he completes his weaving descent, the film flips into reverse, pulling him backward to the very top of the stairs from where he resumes his descent once again. He is locked in a slapstick loop of perpetual ascent and descent, like an awkward inverted Sisyphus minus the burden of the rock.
