In lieu of an abstract, here is the first paragraph of this article: Pauline Boudry and Renate Lorenz’s film Opaque (2014) opens with a monologue that establishes its speaker as a member of an unspecified underground faction. Concealed by a black curtain that hangs from a frame erected in the bluish depths of a disused swimming pool, at first all that we see of this fugitive is a vague outline. When the curtain is eventually pulled back, tugged slowly by a disembodied arm, it reveals another curtain, this one made of a fluorescent pink and black zebra print. Camouflaged in a pyjama-style suit cut from the same fabric, the figure is further obscured by bright plumes of smoke erupting from a flare. The video continues in this vein, a beautiful and peculiar thing. Opaque, full of bold colours and indistinct forms, riffs off a long history of queer experimental film-making. As with many of Boudry and Lorenz’s works, it seems to conjure the draped walls and curious interiors found scattered throughout Jack Smith’s films. Albeit reminiscent of Smith, it is to another experimental film-maker that Opaque owes its dominant visual cue. The work recalls Kenneth Anger’s 1949 Puce Moment, in which a rail of dresses sways toward the screen like the dancing skeletons in the old Funnybones cartoons. This dress-screen eventually parts to show a female figure select a garment of the titular green hue and disappear into an intoxicating pall of perfume before stepping into the street. Anger’s film was originally intended to be a study of the women of Hollywood, characteristically attuned to the production of celebrity as well as to its sometime otherworldly underbelly. In Opaque, a performance of cloaked citations draws together these histories of queer underground experimental film-making and fugitive struggle, refracted through the lens of contemporary artists’ moving image.