" There are no more places to flee: on all sides, night falls ." Amsevrid opens with the air of a twilight and jazzy thriller, between the parasitic noises of a message left like a bottle thrown into the sea and the crackling of a welding station whose sparks light up one by one men sent back to the anonymity of a small group. Who is SK? Where does this road go? Who is this character? Very quickly, we track down the fiction that disintegrates as we track down reality as television archives and newspaper headlines follow one another around the revolts, conflagrations, betrayals and repressions. They punctuate the history of contemporary Algeria from the depths of the black decade and the terrorist past of the 90s. Tahar Kessi does not seek to explain or embrace a historical truth that would take his side. Outside of any chronology, we walk, picking up here and there the shards of incandescent beauty, shot by shot, assuming to be disoriented in the fold of these trembling images. Amsevrid links spaces, times, men caught in games of echoes and mirrors, shapes, sounds, who seem affected by the same traumas. The characters seem to act as being acted upon in the paranoid climate that the residues of fiction distill. Amsevrid is just as much a dark and poetic journey as a haunted mental map. The territory that Tahar Kessi draws is a continuum of raised bodies, moments of withdrawal, songs, walks. On two occasions, women, gathered around a loom, gather the threads one by one. From the film perhaps. Or from Algeria, which inexorably sees men and women rising up, carried by the idea that revolutions draw their inspiration from the future. Not from the past. Claire Lasolle