Sonbert was something of a prodigy, only 19 when he made Amphetamine, with Wendy Appel. This 10-minute black-and-white ode to sex and drugs echoes the work of Warhol and Morrissey in luring the viewer into a self-consciously decadent, queer closed space. The film makes no reference to the outside world, and its sheer insularity is rendered through the drone of an endlessly repeated “Where Did Our Love Go?” from a scratchy LP. The sense of transgressive pleasure is intense here but also ephemeral. Like Sonbert’s short life, it’s a diversion that will end as surely - and quickly - as the secret pleasures it celebrates.

Gary Morris