Kenneth Anger's FIREWORKS (1947)

How ev'ry damned emotion one could feel
Comes forth in thirteen minutes, I can't tell.
In that short span, the viewer's fed a meal
Of imagery, some raw, some cooked too well.
Deep shadows, lush and secretive, invite
Our exploration, then, as though a spell
Is breaking, stark and strong and sere and white,
The body beautiful is put through hell.
Sometimes it disappears, a landscape, or
An abstract pattern takes its place. No cell
Or tissue has been substituted, nor
A shred of clothing. Laugh? Too soon t'will quell
Your humor with some horror. Frame by frame,

The dreamer's dream can never be the same. 

Elaine May's MIKEY AND NICKY (1976)

The squalor and the glamor of the day
In Philly of the '70s, behind
These faces! Watch as two such old friends play
Each other. Falk and Cassavetes wind
The viewer in their story, scene by scene
(And not one wasted, nor is one detail!)
Is captivating. Both are at their keen
And subtle best, as they chat, laugh and flail
In bitter combat. But it's Carol Grace,
A side piece, treated badly, whom I'll keep
In memory the most, I think. Her space
And how she's treated -- no, I will not weep
But cheer. Elaine May grab me any night
And show me what she likes. I'll never fight.