A single-screen projection, Sirens of Chrome comprises a similar two-scene dramatic format. Just seems to thrive on this – arguably a film with a beginning and middle, but no end. Two fanciful visions of Detroit are depicted: three African-American women in a black Chevy with a purple door and mismatched tyres cruise through deserted streets to a plaintive piano soundtrack. They find themselves in an opera-house-turned-carpark, involved in a ritualistic, possibly violent, slow-motion dance sequence. The scene is punctuated by a harsh drumbeat, which is itself propelled by the metallic crunches of a fourth woman rolling herself over the car. Just allows himself to revel in a degree of cultural generalization: he romanticizes Detroit by presenting two floating dream worlds – the American stereotype of the timeless space of driving, combined with the West Side Story-esque fabrication of rhythmic urban confrontation. But Sirens of Chrome is a stunning balletic piece notwithstanding.