Born on September 17, 1919, my grandfather - whom I only knew until the age of 4 - worked as a hairdresser in his salon, at 15 bis avenue Liegeard, in Livry-Gargan, in the Parisian suburbs, from 1964 to 1980. All that remains of her activity is the testimony of my grandmother and her husband's work tools, which she treasures. No doubt because in them still resides the repeated gesture of the craftsman, since that is what boy hairdressers were called until the 1980s. Just looking at them brings a vanished world to life before my eyes, and I can easily imagine these ancient times: my grandfather already well established in his salon, getting down to business, like a good artisan hairdresser of the years 1970. So, discovering these tools, I wanted to do some sort of memory work, reconstituting the past with and through them.
One of the reasons I love watching movies is that, much like books, they serve as windows into other times and different places. Productions from around the world offer valuable insights into the history and culture of their respective countries. And just like literature, cinema can help us understand the present by showing us the past.
The 100 imagines a future where humanity's overcome some of its most pervasive forms of prejudice—only to create new ones.
If you mix religious rituals with dark mythology, the result will be effective, and the story powerful in 90% of the cases. That is exactly what happens at the beginning of The Vigil.
Over the last several years, I have had the privilege of being one of the critics having the opportunity to watch and review several films from writer/director/producer Marcellus Cox, whose efforts are never anything less but grounded, relevant, and steeped in unflinching glimpses illustrating the gripping, inspired, and ever-vacillating realms that make up the human condition.
