It could be said that Lynn Hershman Leeson does not make good movies. Good, in a sense that is respective to the populist prerogative of feature-length and therefore commercially viable, movies. Films of a certain economic tenacity, seamless pictures that we submit to systems of evaluation that, even to those products that presently receive 3, 4, or 5 star appraisals, seem anachronistic or moot. Though Leeson currently moves in this world, it is only a matter of pragmatism. As in her career as a visual artist, the goals of Leeson's feature career are antithetical to those purportedly empirical in the project that is dominant filmmaking. Her feature-length efforts do not place the same emphasis on plot or narrative unfolding as most Hollywood cinema or feted docs; nor do they, ultimately, convene with a customary sense of finitude. No, Leeson came from an early 70s art world teased by the promises of a) advanced technology and b) the burgeoning feminist art movement. Leeson took both strains to task for over 40 years, making cyber mock-ups for female robots, taking avatars at face value and allowing one, Roberta Breitmore, to overtake her everyday life, by problematizing the private via female-coded lexical diatribes, like a teenage weblog, in searing and hilarious video diaries. Her next step––the pictures!––happily did little to upset this content. In her feature films, Leeson allows the techno-political content to trump form, forging a body of work strikingly original and defiantly rich.