AND SO IT goes. He lies and lies and lies about the film for well over an hour. Clearly, he has not seen it. He has made up a film that is by definition antithetical to Ingo’s concept, antithetical to Ingo’s artistic mission. I have been thrust into a waking nightmare, but I hold my tongue until the question-and-answer period. After a series of softball questions and inane answers, after my constantly raised hand is ignored again and again and again, the yarmulked doppelgänger finally calls on me.

“Yes, you, the clown in the fourth row.”

“Which one of us is the clown here?” I say cuttingly.

“You are,” he says, clearly confused by my question.