A series of 8 films by Camille and Manolo
France: Neon Productions
Ten art films by Camille & Manolo in seven different countries, Istanbul, Berlin, Rotterdam, Marseille... The Centaur, a hybrid creature, leads us in the wake of his roaming, questioned by the world around him and the search of the other.
"Faced with the barbarism of the real, the wild beauty of the Centaurs is an exceptional impact strength. A disturbing and sensual poetry." Télérama ****
A centaur labourer at the Port of Rotterdam. Suddenly, a metallic dance breaks out. The centaur, as conductor, gives life to the machines around him. Everything is in full operation. The centaur finishes by fading away. More dance, more music, just a trace of life.
A centauress crosses Europe with her baggage. As she passes through Berlin, Rotterdam, Graz, Turin and Sagunto, she is submerged by all of these cultures. Arriving in Marseille, she joyfully loses herself, for one last time, in the vastness of the sea.
• North Sea
Immense winds upon the sands. A centaur is sat on the dunes, his back to the viewer. A centauress stands motionless in the wind. The sand whips up in her face. She is soon engulfed by the storm. The wind and the sea then retreat and fade away. A centaur's breath is heard as he gallops under the colossal black sky.
Hydrocarbon is a visual poem, outside of the fields of conventional dramaturgic narration.
This film is composed of surrealist impressions of a half-human, half-animal being in the landscape of ancient Eastern Europe. With a coal plant, oil pipelines, and pools of hydrocarbons, this film is a metaphor for nature overcome, modified, industrialised.
The eye of the centaur contemplates without understanding the immense machine before him. The smoke. The pipes. The grinding of metal in the night. The machine never sleeps; it transforms under the watchful eye of the centaur.
This city is the union of two continent, a crossroads of people, a city of all trade and exchange. Humans and centaurs unite for the night. Although they are different, is it not still, to a small degree, a love story?
The eye of the centaur opens over the port. Cigarette smoke. Chimney smoke. Cargo ready to be loaded. Anticipation. A female centaur, upright, vertical. The mooring ropes creak . Amongst the containers appears a third centaur, an illegal immigrant. Suddenly, it's a race. The quays are his escape routes. He is pursued in the hangars and across the dock cranes, accelerating until the final moment.
A male and a female centaur are sat on the dunes, around them, a radio, a ball and a sandcastle. It is raining on the sea. A boat fades into the horizon. Three necks, three rumps galloping like a wave. Salty tears and drops of rain will all be covered over, wiped away by the sea.