Es ist immer Krieg: the haunting words borrowed from poet and writer Ingeborg Bachmann provide the subheading for Annik Leroy’s latest film, Tremor.
TREMOR is made up of the voices that intersperse it – voices of poets and madmen, of a mother or a child. From introspective thoughts to spontaneous accounts to gripping testimonies, they take their turns to talk about their experience of violence and war. As we listen to them, our gaze is transported to places and scarred landscapes impossible to locate. Noises from elsewhere filter through. The image becomes distorted and porous. Music starts to play. The film lingers over the presence of a pianist, before diffracting again… TREMOR is a sensory journey between memory and nightmare. An act of resistance.
An experimental documentary made up of the voices haunting it: voices of poets and madmen, of a mother and a child. We look at places hard to situate with certainty, places where omens of violence are palpable and scars remain visible.
An experimental documentary made up of the voices haunting it: voices of poets and madmen, of a mother and a child. We look at places hard to situate with certainty, places where omens of violence are palpable and scars remain visible.
An experimental documentary made up of the voices haunting it: voices of poets and madmen, of a mother and a child. We look at places hard to situate with certainty, places where omens of violence are palpable and scars remain visible.
An experimental documentary made up of the voices haunting it: voices of poets and madmen, of a mother and a child. We look at places hard to situate with certainty, places where omens of violence are palpable and scars remain visible.