Emmanuelle Sarrouy

To give life to a ghost, both joyful and melancholy ghost, who became to himself a ghost, prototypal form that cheerfully mingles with coarse-grained films and video pixels, with various shapes and colours, and that appears in the cuts, in the link shots, and in the flash of a shooting star.

Singing and dancing to the rhythm of the merry-go-round. Deconstructing a sequence shot. Working on the rhythm.

A film about time, duration, disappearance…of body, image, and sound. A film about the traces of memory and its monstrous persistence.

And the bird cried out…

When the camel smiles…What are the men doing? They are killing...

When the song of men mingles with the flight of birds…

To give life to a ghost, both joyful and melancholy ghost, who became to himself a ghost, prototypal form that cheerfully mingles with coarse-grained films and video pixels, with various shapes and colours, and that appears in the cuts, in the link shots, and in the flash of a shooting star.

Singing and dancing to the rhythm of the merry-go-round. Deconstructing a sequence shot. Working on the rhythm.

A film about time, duration, disappearance…of body, image, and sound. A film about the traces of memory and its monstrous persistence.

And the bird cried out…

When the camel smiles…What are the men doing? They are killing...

When the song of men mingles with the flight of birds…

In the end, it's like usual. / Nothing exceptional. / We eat. / Again. Gestures repeated, crossed. / Shot. / Reverse shot, in rhythm. In the end, the pitch rises. / It's always the same. / We talk, we sing. / Celebration. In the end, bodies tangle, separate. / In the end, we kiss, of course.

What a strange ritual people are celebrating at Christmas Eve…

Is she my real mother? And does it matter?