The vast Green Bank Radio Telescope is so sensitive that it can detect the impact of a snowflake on the ground.

It sits inside the signal-free National Radio Quiet Zone in West Virginia, and it’s here, like a subculture that might have been dreamed up by William Gibson, that a community of rural-living “electrosensitives” have nested, taking refuge from a world increasingly bathed in Wi-Fi signals and all the other invisible noise of modern life.

As with Penny Lane’s The Pain of Others, the symptoms of this marginal condition sound appalling.

“This is not a belief or an ideology,” says one resident, pointing to a photograph of herself, reduced in the outside world to a vanishing 77 pounds by electromagnetic hypersensitivity. “This is real.”

Others refer to the zone as the last safe place in the world. Others still patrol the area for stray signals, sometimes as small as an electric heater found in a doghouse.

Mindfulness is a fashionable idea right now, but what really beguiles about this modest film, aptly placed inside DOXA’s Quietude series, is the in-the-moment quality that it somehow manages to transmit (not by radio) to screen.