Before being “Alzheimer” as he describes himself, Claude is first and foremost a body that inhabits a space. As the camera alternates between various static shots of an impersonal room, the character stands out by his mere presence: his head tilted on the edge of his pillowless bed, his body in a zigzag, his drooping ears, and his tousled hair. Claude asserts himself, even positions himself, in his otherness; he breaks the white of the walls, distorts the room, erases its exactness. In doing so, we forget everything else, from the voices in the hallway to his illness. Instead, we are carried away by the elegance of his hands on the piano, by his bursts of laughter; we put aside our books and music sheets because we prefer to listen to each other as friends, because "with someone, it’s harder to forget."

Rémi Journet
Tënk's editorial assistant

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