Vincent Pouplard

They are barely 20 years old. They are robust, fragile, skilful. They are Allia, Hamza, Killian and Maélis. They spend time saying themselves, naming what they are, hollow and full. Vox Clamantis in Deserto and we are listening. The film is their imprint.

Sifredy and Roman are twins. Over the last five years they have experienced separately captivity, flight, and crime prevention programmes. Together, they have experienced recklessness, violence, and verdicts. Now they have come of age, their problems continue but they believe the best is yet to come. This film portrays the embodiment of a world that is often rejected, at the edge of society, a place of fears that we do not wish to name, where the damaged lives of young delinquents are hidden away in the shadows behind bars, for fear that they will cause disruption.

Camille is eleven. She lives alone with her father Patrick. This morning, Camille secretly comtemplates the sleeping bodies of her father and a young woman, Jeanne.

Camille is eleven. She lives alone with her father Patrick. This morning, Camille secretly comtemplates the sleeping bodies of her father and a young woman, Jeanne.

Camille is eleven. She lives alone with her father Patrick. This morning, Camille secretly comtemplates the sleeping bodies of her father and a young woman, Jeanne.

Flashes. Music. A motionless silhouette, a pair of clenched hands at the heart of dancing bodies. Emmanuel goes to Niagara for the first time.

In the middle of the picture, there’s Thalia, who just turned three years old. She discovers what life is made of, from snails to death. She experiments, evaluates and tastes every flavour that we adults have forgotten. In Thalia's shed, there’s music being composed, images being created, the softness of gestures and countless "Why?".

In the middle of the picture, there’s Thalia, who just turned three years old. She discovers what life is made of, from snails to death. She experiments, evaluates and tastes every flavour that we adults have forgotten. In Thalia's shed, there’s music being composed, images being created, the softness of gestures and countless "Why?".