As evidenced in Michael Almereyda's subtle, elegant documentary, William Eggleston is in no hurry. When shooting, the lanky Southerner saunters gracefully through dilapidated rural structures, small-town main streets, or burnt-grass suburbs, one hand crooked at the hip as if already inspecting the finished photograph in a gallery, scoping for the right moment with a modest intensity. He's not an existential big-game hunter, looking to gun down the Now; he seeks, rather, to produce a lingering trace of his own... More >>>