Under the unfinished arch of a disused building, Amira Louadah has gathered a group of athletes connected by the use of their fists, calling themselves "the 300 faction," after Zac Snyder's virile blockbuster. The slender architecture of the bare concrete pillars, planted in the middle of the desert, gives the place a kind of sacredness, halfway between Richard Serra's monoliths and the dolmens of Stonehenge. The triviality of the boxing gloves and dirty T-shirts captured in close-ups, however, competes with the Hollywood and mythological solemnity of the mineral landscape, opening onto a city in the distance. We learn nothing about these men except that they form a team and that they share the task of training their bodies. Here we salute Amira Louadah's skill in using cinema to subvert a prosaic space (a gym) and reconfigure it, with great economy of means, as a final refuge. L'Arche offers an operation of transposition: their performed boxer bodies become warrior bodies in the heart of the story. Indeed, in a few elements (music, shot values, voiceover), the director transforms reality and constructs a dystopian speculative fiction as brief as it is effective. Fateh, the coach, trains his men for a final battle to come against a faceless enemy. Today's Algeria becomes the scene of a nightmarish world of tomorrow, described in two boxes, sketched in a few shots filmed on a cell phone. L'Arche concentrates in the hardness of the stones and the dust of the landscape all the dramaturgy of the great stories of ecological and political collapse. The Algerian national flag, raised in a final movement, carried by the lyricism of Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, floats in the ambiguity of a symbol that can signify both unity and division, the end of a time and a new beginning.