Rémi Gérard

Juste un Mouvement is a free take on La Chinoise, a Jean-Luc Godard movie shot in 1967 in Paris. Reallocating its roles and characters fifty years later in Dakar, and updating its plot, this new version offers a meditation on the relationship between politics, justice and memory. Although not anymore alive, Omar Blondin Diop, the only actual Maoist student in the original movie, now becomes the key character.

The doors of the abandoned Raverdy coffee and chicory factory remain closed, just like everything around it. The director – herself a descendant of the Raverdy family (and expecting her first child) – goes in search of the stories behind this sealed-off part of the city. She moves in with her 91-year-old grandmother, who lives over the road. Piece by piece, she is able to reconstruct events leading up to the factory’s closure, using old photos, advertising brochures, myths, language games, conversations with her grandmother and former female factory workers. These memories unfold through different storylines. The factory’s surroundings are explored through a poetic film style, and the history of the nunnery next to the factory is also revealed. This sensitive film is a reflection on the invisible and the forgotten, revolving around women and the changing body.

Young soldiers are roaming the forest aimlessly, shots are heard in the distance. But something isn’t quite right. Soviet troops, the Wehrmacht and American soldiers in Iraq seem to be co-existing in the same peaceful woods. They speak awkwardly about war memories that could never have been their own. And yet they know them by heart. A lighthearted film connecting imagination and storytelling to the reality of war.

Confronted with an unplanned and often interrupted pregnancy, men from 20 to 40 years talk about their feelings and thoughts about such events. Through these stories, director Coline Grando questions the place of a man in the relationship between women and men.

Tunis, summer 2010, a few months before the Revolution: Farah, 18 years old, has just graduated and her family already sees her as a future doctor. But she doesn't have the same idea. She sings in a political rock band, has a passion for life, gets drunk, discovers love and her city by night against the wishes of her mother Hayet, who knows Tunisia and its dangers all too well.

Since the year 2000, there have been several waves of suicides among the indigenous population of the Colombian Amazon. I discovered that the men commit suicide because of love sorrow. Their wives leave them for white men. The latter think that the Indian feels nothing because they do not express themselves in the same way and, in their language, there are no words to describe feelings. Is it possible that a whole people, the Cácuas Indians, do not feel anything?