You could do worse than stepping by mistake into a cinema showing An Oversimplification of Her Beauty. I doubt you’d book up for a night out. It’s an arty, wordy, low-budget stream of consciousness about love, starring and made by Afro-haloed hunk and first-time feature maker Terence Nance. Nance plays, autobiographically his script suggests, the young New York inamorato given to Joycean voiceovers and prankish chat-and-grab scenes (a bit early Godard) with his beloved. The film is annoying at times, hugely inventive at others. The animation sequences are cult-collectable.