At the end of the film
In the House
of François Ozon, Fabrice Luchini and Ernst Umhauer face a building.
The day has just fallen.
The windows light up and reveal the lives of their inhabitants.
It's a doll's house for a novelist.
A group of night owls for Gaëlle Josse.
“Night enters the city, the city enters night.
Grey, purple, blue, black.”
In his latest book, a collection of microfiction, the author observes the yellow windows.
“What do they think of, those from whom sleep flees?”
She advances in the dark, on tiptoe, like her words, whispers that dot the pages.
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“What do these silent silhouettes tell the great blue night?”
We have all, one evening, crossed a town, looked up and seen these bodies at the window, their backs, their arms, becoming shadows among the furniture.
What stories are they hiding?
Gaëlle Josse imagines them.
Its ink blends with the night.
Suddenly the ghosts come to life.
It's time for poetry.
We…
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