Produced in the shadow of the late Cold War and a rapidly escalating global climate crisis, Lady Lazarus is situated at the intersection of body horror, corporate extraction, and post-war feminist literature. The film acts as an elegy that binds Sylvia Plath's voice to Lahire’s broader industrial critique, confronting the toxic presence of nuclear capitalism and corporate environmental poisoning head-on. Lahire did not merely document these heavy industrial landscapes from a safe distance; she physically intervened in the material body of the film strip to make the political violence visible. By re-photographing her 16mm footage frame by frame on a rostrum printer, she manipulated light exposure to pull the lens destabilizingly close to the silver halide crystals, blowing up the grain structure until the screen flickered like an unstable radioactive skin.

Through step-printing, the technical practice of repeating or skipping specific frames, she disrupted the camera's standard intermittent movement, forcing the film strip to shatter and jitter in real time. By using contact printing to burn multiple frames together, Lahire forces a haptic collision between medical monitoring devices and decaying industrial extraction zones. She solarises the film stock, plunging the processing bath into erratic chemical shifts that create sudden diegetic jolts between blinding overexposures and heavy, opaque blacks. This physical scarring of the celluloid bypasses passive narrative consumption, leveraging durational time to lock the viewer inside the slow violence of corporate exploitation. By avoiding commercial focal length transparency, her extreme close-ups function as an embodied inscription, turning the film strip into a tactile record of ecological and bodily decay.