A year before the Tian An Men massacre. We live with apparatchiks whose house adjoins the moat of the Forbidden City, a few hundred meters from this immense square, where the tanks were going to crush the resistance, under the good-natured gaze of Mao, guarantor of the meaning of History. In a premonitory way, my film ends in this square where, on my bicycle, I come and return, in the early morning. The sun is red. Bicycles pass.
Film-journal. I was lent a tiny autofocus camera, allowing me to film without framing, the lens propped on my right hip. Everything is captured in image clusters, edited directly into the camera. Temporality of the diary of a stroller who travels around Beijing on foot and by bicycle - a cyclist among the cyclists who circulate in slow and tight flows.