Martine Rousset Movies

Listen to the trace, over the absent times, from the shore, at the very edge of the page, in the blind corner where the reader is held, give a voice,...

An unknown writer written under the pseudonym of Laure at the beginning of the century. Readings. Geography. The places of a writing. The forces that...

The city is leaving, slowly casting off, on the edge of time... It is leaving lightly... Not so far away, elsewhere, where time passes, has passed,...

Landscapes. A utilitarian nature. Contemporary. Cruel images. Changing. Seasons. The watch could be eternal. Each image transparent and non-avenue....

in the meantime , lighthouse , old lighthouse , far away , beyond the ponds , coolpix , little coolpix , long before the perfect clone .

"Yerevan, Armenia, in the illegible secret of the country, imprisoned in its shadows, in its nights of the underground, nights of the basements,...

The unfinished Julien Gracq text, the road 1970, a forest near the sea, the enigma of a trajectory, by this text in this lanscape and this...

This is what the city offers the passing foreigner: gold and night to the visitor who has barely arrived. Fragments, the stone found by the...

A film about my relationship to New York since 1962. It deals with the distance between a memory and the image of this memory, a distance one always...

One year before starting his famous series "Cinematons", Gerard Courant had made an ancestor to this series: the portrait of Martine Rousset, filmed...

Rousset photographs a train station in the evening, then boards a late-night train bound for mountainous Anatolia.

Filmmaker's visual diary during her visit to Samarcande.

Filmmaker's visual diary aboard the Vangolu Express.

Originally a text in fragments, more or less biographical, of different characters. Crossed stories, mixed times, memories and inventions. Coming...

Traces of stories. The images themselves. Tear off. Stain. To paint. Makes light out of them.

Winter, fog, outside. The outline of eyes, sometimes we could ride those trails.

Night is falling the landscape is disappearing leave the world and its memory the night, rags in its wake last page.