Young actors embody my grandparents and perform their last moments together. Accompanied by my grandfather's voice, they tell of memory that fades, of painful bodies, of solitude. They tell of loss, of life.

In 1996 I took the conservatory exam. I missed it. A year ago I was asked to do a masterclass on acting in cinema. I went there. I met a lively, joyful and passionate youth. Among my students there was Clémence. The following year, she asked me to film their last show. I felt her urgency and the fear she had of leaving this mythical place. So I accepted.  By filming this youth, I revisited mine.

Right in the middle of a school inspector’s visit, Ari, a 27-year-old student teacher, collapses. Angry with him for being a failure, his father kicks him out of the house. Emotionally raw, and alone in the city, Ari reluctantly forces himself to rekindle his relationships with old friends. As his memories of the previous months successively ebb and flow, Ari discovers that other people aren’t doing as well as he imagined, and that perhaps he has been sleepwalking through his own life.