In the beginning, Elisabeth picked yellow flowers. On the green hill, facing the sea, between a bunker, the glare of the sun, and the radiation from the wars in progress. In these times of confinement we film an hour a day, less than a kilometer away. It's a very old desire to film from home. The flowers, a radioactive yellow, evaporate in the light. And all around, the playful insects vibrate tirelessly. In this landscape under surveillance, there is Paul, an ancient Newfoundlander, struck down by the world to come. Has he left ? Has he disappeared? His dog prowls along the cliffs, between Fécamp and Yport. The sea turns red, we fall into the night.
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In the beginning, Elisabeth picked yellow flowers. On the green hill, facing the sea, between a bunker, the glare of the sun, and the radiation from the wars in progress. In these times of confinement we film an hour a day, less than a kilometer away. It's a very old desire to film from home. The flowers, a radioactive yellow, evaporate in the light. And all around, the playful insects vibrate tirelessly. In this landscape under surveillance, there is Paul, an ancient Newfoundlander, struck down by the world to come. Has he left ? Has he disappeared? His dog prowls along the cliffs, between Fécamp and Yport. The sea turns red, we fall into the night.
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Elisabeth Perceval
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