There is an almost iconic power in the moment when, bloodied knives in hand, Camarda straddles the fallen Morelle and allows her body to morph luxuriously through a series of preying-mantis poses.
That she can play this scene masked is an act of bravura, an assertion that the unadorned flesh has come of age as a storyteller.
Yet there is an irony.
Even the act of crouching on all fours on a trestle table is, for him, somehow precarious and full of potential pitfalls.
In the video clip we see her sitting, pale and lovely, on the table, as serene as a young naked Buddha.
For all their sense of mutual alienation, Morelle and Carmada are caught together in the same spreading bubble of oil, sweat and blood.
The setting of this psycho-drama is a grim space somewhere between a warehouse and a slaughterhouse, the protagonists nude dancers Vincent Morelle and Sylvia Camarda, both looking vulnerable in this unforgiving milieu.
He creates the sense of a man who, for all his force and energy, is unable to connect, to grasp what is in front of him - fated not only to see it slip out of his hands, but from under his feet as he slithers and slides through his performance.