“ Enjoy the show. ”

When the image returned, the film had changed. The colors were wrong—too deep, too real. Jade, the actress, was no longer acting. Her eyes were wide, staring directly into the lens. Not at the camera, but through it. At Leo.

The “plot,” such as it was, followed Jade, a nightclub singer in a neon-lit, rain-slicked version of Hong Kong. The first twenty minutes were terrible: wooden dialogue, a kung-fu scene where punches missed by a foot, and a “sexy” montage involving a feather boa and a ceiling fan. Leo almost clicked stop.

Jade smiled. It wasn't a seductive B-movie smile. It was the smile of a predator who had waited 50 years for the door to open.