Fredéric Charpentier

The journey on the edge of an ocean of a poet, two terrorists, a film-maker, a reporter and two lovers, in search of a ship leaving for Nowhere. A ship like hope for all those who wait: the misguided, the misaligned, the displaced, the exiles that we are at certain times, that we are one day or another, a little earlier, a little later.

Always the same imperative: use a small amount of material. We also re-film. A sort of destruction of the frame, a loss in thickness. Mechanical wear, tearing. Emergence of the organic buried under a mineral veil. Figurative thrust.

No synopsis available yet.

A pretty gray box rests beside me. Every week since January, it has grown a little heavier. Each week, around the hub initially rattling around in the box, some thirty meters of film came to be wrapped. The box is full now. Here I am with a film (?, I am almost more sensitive to the object).

A body plus a body. A body within a body. First principle of mechanics. Study of forces. Action reaction. During the special Carpenter session organized by the Molokino, the sentence is launched: "You better fuck rather than jerk off." The man with the invective comes out. Fred fucks, the same evening, to show off in the same place the following week. Action reaction. If it happens that we keep our socks to practice the act, love can only be done in underwear. I thought about. Do I have to show my ass? What if I preserved myself from the contaminating image? A pornography of simplicity. Holy and healthy doll, moral plastic and fashion. So it will happen elsewhere. This film is irrelevant. Copy, mimic, exploit. And that it does not give anything! Shyness in the act, who's up to it,