Charles Mingus spends much of this 1968 short film waiting to be thrown out of his own home. Director Thomas Reichman spent weeks inside Mingus's Manhattan loft in late 1966, filming the bassist and composer as city marshals moved to evict him for nonpayment of rent. Mingus talks through the loft in long, unbroken takes: about racism, about his failed marriages, about the state of jazz, all while his young daughter drifts through the frame. At one point he fires a shotgun into the ceiling, apparently just to see what happens. The film builds toward the eviction itself, marshals and movers carrying his furniture and instruments out onto the sidewalk while Mingus looks on. There is no narration and almost no structure beyond what the camera happened to catch, which is the point: this is Mingus unfiltered, difficult and funny and cornered, on the night his home actually disappeared out from under him.