Antoine D’Agata veritably takes us on his travels. Instead of trying to represent the world, he tells us how he is part of this world. We find ourselves swept up in the chaos and turmoil of his nights: sordid and artificial purgatory, slices of wounded and famished flesh, desperate promiscuity on vacant evenings, and constellations of depraved and violated private lives. This is crudeness of the state of being seized photographically.