Léo Richard

On the beaches in the North of France, a group of friends had to say goodbye. In an appartment in Paris, leaving is putting away. Even if we hide under the blanket, even if we chew hard our corn flakes, we will hear the doors slamming. Somtimes, we believe that we’re going too far and some people leave for real.

On the beach of Casablanca, the desire of two adolescents keeps a low profile. Children like adults keep an eye out. A fight distracts attention.

The story of Cross Words is based on a news item, which quickly becomes a pretext for a sensitive, sensual portrait of a generation represented by two main characters, Pierre and Mila, and a group of thirty-somethings. They’re journalists, teachers, carpenters and artists, between Paris, Marseille and Brussels. Valero portrays fragments of everyday life, interweaving them with impressionistic urban and bucolic slivers.

Ana returns to Paris after a long trip. With nowhere to live and short of funds, she stays with old friends, hoping for a better situation to turn up. So begins Ana's wandering across the city in this short arthouse film, on a night journey of her own melancholy.

It’s firstly the portrait of an area, France’s north coast between Dunkirk and Calais, where Olivier Derousseau lives and works: ransacked landscapes, port installations, plumes of smoke from the chimneys of petrochemical facilities, blown by the wind… It’s also a musical suite in five parts, a kind of minimalist blues lovingly composed in memory of time and people that have disappeared: the constant bass of juggernauts on the motorway, the percussion of the wind in the microphones, all the world’s sounds blending into a repetitive guitar thread. And it’s a melancholy meditation on the stuff of days, the flesh of the future, on irretrievable erasure and the traces waiting and hoping to be saved.

Joseph isn't particularly happy, even though he's good at hiding it. The day his brother dies, he becomes certain he'll miss out on his life. So that it doesn't slip away from him, one night he gives in to his desire.

A man must deliver a package the contents of he knows nothing about. Once at the station, he is not met as planned. He must then remain in that city, which he had fled, and which he fears.

There is a special brigade dedicated to camera thefts in Lisbon. Few cameras are found, although sometimes tapes are thrown in the gutter like lost memories. Policemen watch these tapes hoping to find clues in this flow of touristic and intimate video recordings. One image leads the investigation to France.