A Video Grows in Brooklyn

"All right," the director says, "let's try that one more time. Quickly now."

If there was any thought of escape to, say, Smoke Island, it vanishes. We are now trapped by the lens of a video camera, unwilling to break into range, unwilling to admit, by our run for the front exit, a lack of support.

But in the front room, the final take is (finally) wrapping up. Willis once again presses buttons on the jukebox to no effect and begins her journey toward a booth-riding boyfriend. She rises up, kneels down, crosses in and crosses out.

In its final form, the magic of video will paint her actions as a two-minute and 44-second struggle against tightly packed bar patrons for, you know, something akin to love. But in reality, Green is sitting and waiting just to the left of the front door at Sam's, about 4 feet from the very same jukebox where Willis' journey began.

The truth of the matter is that Kelly Willis hasn't gone anywhere.