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Agonie d’une passion

« 28 février 1942 ; 10 heures du matin

[…] Voilà que Pierre s’est introduit dans mon existence, ou moi dans la sienne, ce qui est à peu près la même chose. Je me souviens très mal des premiers jours passés ensemble, depuis le soir où Francis Forster nous avait présentés l’un à l’autre, à l’issue de la générale de Cœurs Ennemis. Ce que je sais en tout cas, et c’est cela qui est remarquable pour moi, c’est que je n’ai pas essayé de construire avec lui. Tout s’est fait naturellement. Nous avons couché ensemble dès ce premier soir. La rue Bridaine a retenti fort tard cette nuit-là des échos de cette découverte de nos corps. Pierre me parut très émouvant lorsqu’il se trouva nu devant moi, rapidement déshabillé, ne pouvant pas dissimuler l’envie qu’il avait réfrénée toute la soirée. Je me suis déshabillé à mon tour, lentement, lui laissant le loisir de regarder chaque élément de mon anatomie. Je n’ai jamais eu honte de montrer mon corps. Pierre a su l’apprécier et s’en rendre maître toute la nuit. Il était beau, à peine éclairé par le halo de la lune qui pénétrait dans la chambre par l’une des fenêtres, le torse luisant de sueur, le regard encore un peu hagard, son sexe retrouvant enfin le repos après ses multiples assauts. […] » (Horlange, 31-32)

– Franz Arsene

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Art hypnosis

A landscape, A face, A shot… A particular feeling for A spectator at A precise moment, A connection made, then A general and unique opinion for that same spectator. All the human beings make A world, but that world isn’t A world, but THE world for the billions of actors who feel it, and are forced to live with it.

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Sleep paralysis

Meriel, one night pre-2012…

I am slowly opening my eyes to find myself lying down on my bed, with my head in a straight position, and my arms running alongside my body. I think I am awakening because the natural light of the day is visible through my room’s window. My big comfortable room. It has always been a place of comfort, but on that night, or rather, that morning, it became a place of terror. I have often had nightmares taking place in my room, including a recurrent one in which my bed would move all by itself, and take me to some dark and frightening places. But this time, I certainly was awake, but I could not move. I am paralyzed. Completely paralyzed! Even my respiratory muscles are! How dreadful… I am only able to take small and jolty breaths, and when I try to take a deep one, my body doesn’t answer anymore. I can still move my eyes though, but I am frightened as hell…! Someone is on his way to enter my room, that’s for sure! I can feel it! Nobody comes, but I can feel it! I feel it so strongly that I am sure that person has already entered without touching the door. Yes, just like a ghost! I don’t see anybody, but I know someone is about to come in. There she is! My mother comes in like a maleficient shadow. I was never afraid of her before that experience, but I do see her coming slowly towards me, bypassing the foot of my bed to then kneel down to my left, next to my night table, and tilt her head towards mine with an intense blank stare. I felt like my guts were falling out! I keep trying with all my strength to move and to beg my body to let just one single scream or sound of distress come out so she can help me and reassure me, but nothing comes out. I am paralyzed. I even try to hyperventilate for her to notice in my breathing a sign of abnormality. All I can do is look at her, hoping she would understand my suffering and touch me to wake me up from this hell of a situation, but she does nothing. Sorry. Yes she does! She stares right at me, and my eyes are wide open as well. In the end, the only remaining thing to do is to close my eyes and wait, without having to look at her. After a while, it was over. “You just had a nightmare, that’s all!” my mother told me.

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First part: Satisfaction

Photography, cinema, or even paintings, what matters is the fascination for ancient faces, or why not, the reproduction of that fascination nowadays. Mainly children, whose innocence and vulnerability are among the purest themes of this world. I personally consider everything (and I am not only referring to the 20th century!) that happened before the 1960s as a world in its own right, fascinating, marvelous, and imbued with an elegance that has now disappeared, and which, to my deepest concern, has vanished since the advent of the Hippie culture.

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Fresa y Chocolate_01

Strawberry and Chocolate


I had that annoying and shameful habit of falling asleep numerous times during screenings… My uncontrollable naps could last from five to forty-five minutes, and could even be filled with dreams. Very unhealthy sleep habits, boring and uninteresting screenings, and a dark room did not help. When I was lucky, my naps would remain unnoticeable, and my brain would wake me up right before the lights were turned on once the screening was over. When I was not, I would wake up a bit too late, or my body would make me do sudden moves easily, noticeable even in the dark, to wake me up. Not the best behavior from a film student…!

The article you are about to read is the final assignment I had to hand on during my last year at Concordia University, within the scope of the course FMST335-A – Cuban Cinema and Media, course given by Irene Rozsa for the Film Studies program and Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema department in the Faculty of Fine Arts of the university in Montreal, Canada.

The assignment had to deal with post-revolutionary Cuban cinema, and Fresa y Chocolate was one of the only films that did catch my attention in a way I had known way before (being attracted to the handsome and charming character of David also helped), and as a result, prevented me from falling asleep.

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