Le deuil

The scouts

Two minutes of grief abstracted into void and fragment—sure, it's formally restless, but it never quite commits to its own weirdness; it's experimental in the way a lot of films are experimental, which is to say not enough.

Fraisse constructs a deliberate ellipsis where narrative would conventionally live, letting the editing rhythm and negative space do the work of mourning—formally rigorous in how it refuses catharsis, situated squarely in the lineage of memory-as-absence cinema.

The decision to let memory collapse into void rather than reconstruct it—to trust that fragmentation itself becomes the emotional truth—is where the craft clicks; two minutes that could've been sentimental becomes something quietly devastating through pure restraint.