Self-portrait, askance self-regard, gaze trained on a national dissolution, the self as splintered (and beholed) as would only fit a Makavejev. A Hole in the Soul is something that was clearly commissioned in good faith and carried out in something like indebted befuddlement. Nothing is encapsulated, exactly. A couple of avenues are explored. Sequentially. Which is a bit of a departure for Makavejev. Ends perfect.