"A man falls into a room and the door locks behind him. Following chalked arrow marks on his hands and knees, he comes to a door whose handle comes off in his hand. He looks around the room. Gazing into a mirror, he sees the back of his head. Water pours out of the gas cooker when he attempts to light it. Above a photograph of a group of people is another, torn and decaying, of a naked woman. A chair's legs grow longer and shorter and jab him in the eye. A swinging light smashes a hole in the wall; a wooden fist hits him; the bread he finds has been hollowed out by rats. An egg falls through the table. He punches the wall and his hand becomes jammed. When he rests his hands on the table, they go through it. His fork bends. When he seeks relief on a bed, it is transformed into a pile of sawdust. His clothes are ripped by malevolent nails..."
From 'Jan Svankmajer: architect of the surreal'