I can't remember the filming date for FILM. FILM was shot ten years after Scene of household among the Leftists, and a few years after the Player and Myriam or a truth report in the heart of Holy Russia (supported by the GREC Group of Experimental Cinematographic Research). My participation in the creation of a community of non-violent struggle in conjunction with the agricultural workers of the Aude, and especially my return to my starting point in my mother's apartment also occupied by my father, prompted me to write a CV that stated that I was taking a computer programmer course by correspondence at an American university. Naturally the condescending sneers of my family hastened to trumpet that my hiring as a desk operator in the Bank of Boston had been facilitated by my mother who in her capacity as a former member of the French Communist Party had been hired by François Mitterrand to direct one of the banks that the Left Government had nationalized. The truth did not correspond in any way to this hushed and family denigration. The senior executive who signed my hiring clarified that he had not been fooled by my lies and that the invention of this American university proved that I had mastered the stakes of operating an American investment bank. After two weeks my supervisor drew my attention to an eraser that I had not replaced, asserting to my colleagues that this eraser was the property of the Bank of Boston. He added that my physical appearance contradicting the social lift of a job held in a bank, he forbade me all contact with my colleagues and that I would henceforth launch the computer program after the departure of all the employees. "I will be clear with you," specified my hierarchical superior, "we have decided to give you the key to the bank, you can do whatever you want in our computer room or outside our computer room, it being understood that if the reports are not printed in the morning on my desk, I will kick you out ”(At the end of the eighties, the unemployment rate concerned only a small fraction of the workers and the employees wanted to preserve their family lock-up). I would like to point out that this sentence "if the prints are not on my desk, I will kick you out" considerably influenced my relationship with the producers who subsequently produced my films. I immediately understood that I could shoot whatever I wanted in and outside of my films, on the sole condition that the film had to be completed and placed on the producer's desk on pain of being fired. final and immediate. The circumstances of this verbal addition to my indefinite contract were not only imposed by the necessary respect for the conventions specific to an American investment bank. My supervisor admitted to me that he hired me because his fellow executives did not understand that he was regularly considering resigning from the Bank of Boston in order to recharge his batteries in the co-management of a restaurant in French Guiana. (Which he actually did the following year and I never heard from him again) I have followed this verbal addition to my employment contract to the letter. For over ten years, I pressed the computer key that started printing the Bank of Boston's accounting reports, and I frequented the cafe below the Bank of Boston. This café was the rallying point for Crazy Horse extras and street vendors of postcards and peanuts from the Champs Elysées. My physical demeanor and my words did not allow me to sympathize with the Crazy Horse extras who spoke mostly in English, but on the other hand I quickly sympathized with the street vendors At that time, the police did not have the right to confiscate the merchandise of sellers without a license, the Lincoln cinema screened films by French authors who were followers of the national cultural exception and prostitutes had the right to solicit on Champs Elysees. One of the street vendors who frequented this cafe told me that he had been a pilot in the Shah of Iran's air force and was studying at a French university. He was still paying for my coffee, which years later left me with a series of questions to which I have yet to find the answers. He said one evening that he didn’t understand why I had stopped making movies, nor why I was spending my evenings in a cafe waiting for my pay from the Bank of Boston. The next day he gave me a reel of 16-millimeter film, and after giving a brief praise to Albert Camus who