Hovi, peilit

A black toaster with polished chrome flanks stands on a worktop, a teapot and green cups thrown well out of focus behind it. Toast pops and then hangs in the air beside the machine, held still for longer than gravity allows, while the curved chrome bends the green tiled kitchen into wavy stripes and slides a ring of colour across the body, so the reflection is doing more than the object is. On the next pop the toast comes back up already dressed, a thick swirl of soft white cheese piped onto it and a tall frilly lettuce leaf standing out of the slot like a plume, and the assembly is never shown, which is where the joke sits. There is no voice-over, only music and the clack of the mechanism. It closes on the tub, HOVI in white serif on a blue panel with drawn artichoke and basil leaves either side of the name, then a close-up of the cheese being scooped and the blue Valio flag, so the only drawing in the film is the illustration on the packaging.