Someone is always watching. In director Joële Walinga’s experimental film Self-Portrait, hundreds (possibly thousands, I couldn’t keep track) of film clips from surveillance cameras around the world are weaved together to illustrate a “candid peek of humanity,” per the film’s SXSW summary.

A seemingly nice sentiment–especially on the heels of quarantine–the film’s offering of connectedness is what drew me in initially. As the credits rolled, however, I found the film’s existence to be much more voyeuristic, making a darker statement that forces you to realize just how much, and how often, you’re being watched.

The film itself is a montage of real moments captured globally through unlocked surveillance cameras. With no narrative structure in place, no real story being told, we embark on a worldwide journey via footage stitched together with its original audio. We hear the mumble of kids playing on a suburban street, see a flock of birds blissfully idle in the sky, listen to Christmas music playing at an outdoor market, and watch the rising tides of the ocean.

Both soothing is its uninterrupted observation of nature and claustrophobic in its intrusive, omniscient presence, Self-Portrait gives us many ways to interpret its message.