A voice, warm and heartbreaking, that of Brisseau himself, coils over black and white images. The tone was set very quickly: "To wake up is to be born again in the world of despair." 'On Sunday afternoon' is a film all at once clinical and theoretical on melancholy in the strong sense of the famous "black bile" of the Greeks whose author seems to want to make a complete turn, from his tragic dimension to his psychological dimension, even ending his film with a long quote from Freud's 'Mourning and Melancholia'.

Family farmers in southwest France practice an ancestral way of life under threat in a world increasingly dominated by large-scale industrial agriculture.

I came back to life. I feel hungry. I feel thirsty. I feel like having you.

Two young girls enjoy a fantastical day within a rainstorm.

Having fled his country, David had to leave behind the man he loves. He remembers him, their life together, the society that forced them to lead a clandestine life. The memories are real. But he has kept silent until now. In order to obtain refugee status, he will have to speak for the first time about his secret life he has always kept hidden to himself.

Neither a fiction nor a documentary, it is a film-dance. Not a narrative, but a journey through the Villeneuve area of Grenoble. No characters, but energies, encounters. The body of a dancer in the city. An essay of re-enchantment.

A few kilometres from Ajaccio, the burnt earth gives in to the weight of colour. The ground opens up and frees pictorial energies that take over the sky. I see the horizon disappear, but I keep it in my sights. The train continues on its way...

The drama of the East German tanker on the coast of the island of Sein and the bay of Audierne.

A child fishing in a puddle using bananas as bait catches a bigger fish than he can handle and flees with the giant fish in pursuit.

In Corsica, the inhabitants of a village witnessed a gigantic fire. A memory leads the filmmaker to this event that changed the course of their lives and left its mark.

Eric is a butcher. Divorced, his wife has filed a restraining order for domestic violence, forbidding him to see his son. Since then, a strange wound has appeared on his arm and is beginning to spread through the rest of his body.

In February 2012, I went to Ishinomaki, a town North of Tokyo that was half destroyed by the tsunami of March 11th, 2011, to meet the disaster victims who now live in temporary housing. I spent several days in the North, under the snow, listening to these people talk candidly about what they had lived through, telling their own stories without the media as an intermediary. Their testimonies were terrifying, harsh and sad, but at the same time touching, sincere and human. From the pictures and interviews that I collected, I decided to make a film, not to reflect how awful the events were, but to communicate the singular and even surreal nature of each person’s experience. My intention wasn’t so much to focus on this particular event in Japan, but rather to make these stories more universal as a way of paying tribute to all the victims of natural disasters throughout the world.

ISIS forces were driven out of Mosul in July 2017. How to rebuild the city after more than 3 years of occupation?

When a divorced music video producer is forced to shut down his company, he attempts to rebuild his relationships with his father and estranged teenage son.

He inhabits the world just like he inhabits his house: motionless. A serious accident nailed him there: in a house in the middle of a large garden. No longer can he dash around the world: day after day, he contemplates it from his house. He’s a filmmaker. He’s only ever lived to make movies.

For a year, over all four seasons, Stéphane Manchematin and Serge Steyer keep returning to the Vosges where Suzanne lives. By now she looks back on more than nine decades of life, an old lady who stoically clings to the self-sufficiency of the house where she was born. The place lacks all comfort, neither electricity nor water supply help with cooking or heating. Nonetheless, Suzanne wants for nothing: When the indoor temperature drops to single digits in winter, she simply takes a hot-water bottle to bed and adds another layer of blankets. In the bathroom, water reliably flows from a groove, and if the light hits the surrounding glass carafes, it soon dances through the room.