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A handheld video camera explores image-surfaces as a visual collective unconscious: a TV screen, Polaroids, photos. A conceptually and formally compelling film about the idea of change, the loss of a revolution, the defying memory of the 70s decade.
A serial killer stalks a woman he befriended after her car broke down.
The first in a planned series of films about radical filmmakers by film critic Nicole Brenez and filmmaker Philippe Grandrieux, It May Be That Beauty Has Strengthened Our Resolve is a portrait of Masao Adachi, who emerged during the Japanese New Wave of the 1960s as a screenwriter for Nagisa Oshima and Koji Wakamatsu, and directed a series of avant-garde films that grafted radical politics to the sexploitation genre. A 1971 visit to a Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) training camp while on the way back from Cannes resulted in Adachi's most infamous film, the agit-prop documentary Red Army/PFLP: Declaration of World War, which he co-directed with Wakamatsu. Soon after, Adachi joined a splinter cell of the Japanese Red Army in Lebanon, where he stayed from 1974 until he was deported to Japan in 1997 to serve time for passport violations.
A young American drifts through a decaying Eastern European city, where his fixation on an elusive woman pulls him deeper into an underworld fueled by possession.
A week after the Dayton accords, Phillipe Grandrieux visits Sarajevo accompanied by Sada, a Bosnian who is returning home after four years of exile.
The action unfolds in a country about which we know nothing, a land of snow and forests, somewhere in the North. A family lives in an isolated house near a lake. Alexi, a young, pure-hearted man, is a woodcutter. Occasionally suffering from epileptic seizures and overcome by an ecstatic state, he is one with the nature around him. Alexi is very close to his younger sister, Hege. Their blind mother, father, and younger brother, silently observe this uncontrollable love. One day a stranger arrives, a young man slightly older than Alexi.
Unrest is the third movement of a triptych by Philippe Grandrieux whose common thread is anxiety. A body as a return from the depths of time, an archaic body that we do not know and which nevertheless continues to project in us its shadow, its anxiety.
In the second part of the trilogy on anxiety (in continuation of White Epilepsy), the only light source that reflects on the screen is the naked human body. Its surface, full of bones and muscles, flexes and vibrates in a frantic rhythm. The livelier the reflection, the deeper a viewer feels his/her mortality, as he recognizes between the convulsions the forces he/she cannot control.
An installation presented on 11 screens featuring nude human figures engaged in cathartic performance.
Third part of an experimental television program led by Grandrieux questionning TV flux aesthetic, this film focuses on a single interview with Jean-Louis Schefer who delivers his hypothesis on man-made images of itself.