La Ferme du buisson

It starts in one room: a young man in pajamas lies down and sleeps. He agitates, turns, returns. He is recovering, sits on his bed and a cloud of smoke is coming from his skull, he loses an arm, a leg. He enters a fantasy world where all objects come to life. The swallowed pillow passes his door, a reflection of the mirror emancipates, the portrait of the table rebels and sings his dismay. Dishes and utensils are transformed into a fabulous bestiary where dragon and rhinos are fighting. Gags in cascade, anachronistic nose-feet in acrobatics, juggling on the trapeze, dancing lyric songs, James Thiérrée puts the reality upside down and takes us into a surreal and dreamlike symphony played by interpreters to staggering energy.

“I was the puddle, the dormant Algerian oil…” Nesrine Salem’s film starts from the premise that she—or someone like her belonging to the Algerian diaspora in France—could be set ablaze. Here, fire is a metaphor for the rage and trauma of those living with the dual legacy of racism and loss. The video comprises eleven monologues written and directed by Nesrine Salem and performed by Chaïma Boumaaz.