In “Grand Paris”, Martin Jauvat films a picaresque wandering along the RER B

THE OPINION OF THE “WORLD” – TO SEE

Attention, suburb revisited. In fashion chill and marabout-of-string-of-horse with two young people from said suburb. Leslie (Mahamadou Sangaré), torn from his pad by an urgent delivery of drugs to the end of the world, like at the end of the end of the RER B, in Saint-Rémy-lès-Chevreuse (Yvelines). Which meets in passing his friend Renard (Martin Jauvat), a false North African descendant peroxidized, in candy pink outfit. He gives her 20 bullets so as not to go through the procession alone. For any baggage, we have his face and a summary description of the recipient, who would wear blue sneakers.

On the spot, not the shadow of the guy. We flirt with two chicks in the meantime, we get thrown out, after which we go wandering around in the forest, a joint in our mouths. Along the way, we get our hands on an artifact of possibly extraterrestrial origin that we will seek to resell. However, at La Hacquinière station (Essonne), no more trains in sight and night falls.

This, you will recognize, is singular. Still only the beginning of a wandering of the picaresque kind along the future fluidified line of the Grand Paris metro. In the meantime, for the galley slaves, it is the panting of the trip to Ile-de-France. Strange landscapes, dug, lacunar, entôlé. Building site of the future.

Unusual encounters

At the same time, Martin Jauvat pushes the fires of the improbable poetry that emanates from it. Unusual encounters, spatial lighting, archaeological mysteries. From an aperitif at Sciences Po to a friend at Poulet 3000, who sells “Giscard d’Estaing” sandwiches. From the friend of the friend, near Chelles, who poses as an expert on artefacts, turns out to be a fake anthropologist, a real conspirator and, incidentally, a controller at the RATP. All that wears out, hence the shouting match, by dint of wandering. Then a reunion by the sea, where the grandfather lives.

It finally passes like a letter in the post, like the distant hypothesis of a Stranger Things filmed in the great belt area. A pastel film, a garland story, which stretches and corkscrews on a more than tenuous material, is experienced against a background of territory more than by virtue of a plot, even attempts trickery in transparency and the arrival of the flying saucer to prove to himself that he flies on the wings of pure urban fantasy. One hour twelve watch in hand. We don’t really know what we saw as it’s so light, we say to ourselves that it lacks a bit of ballast, but it’s what we could call a good start.