I'm going to shoot a kino (72-hour film) on Tuesday at the Off Courts Film Festival and I have no idea what I'm going to do.
This isn't bad news, quite the opposite.
When I show up butt naked and empty-handed, it means I'm confident.
Confident in the process. Confident that by meeting people, feeling the vibe, seeing the locations, something will come. Or not – and if not, too bad.
Right now, I'm listening to sounds on Ableton. Maybe I'll start with the music.
To be continued.
If we worried less, death would be the great liberator.
I'm not talking about suicide. I'm talking about how we see life.
A large part of the anxiety we accumulate comes from our tendency to take everything seriously. As if every action were important and serious.
Except that it all ends on an equal footing.
The billionaire and the homeless person, the beautiful and the ugly, the pleasure-seeker and the worrier, all end up the same way, and a few decades later no one remembers them. At best (or at worst), a few stories remain that have little to do with who they really were.
Everything matters less than we expected.
Nothing is as serious as we think.
The point was never to last.
Let's be free.
When I walk on the beach holding something in my hand, there's always a crazy (but happy) dog who runs up to me and asks with his eyes:
Hey, what've you got there?
Is it a ball?
Is it a treat?
Is it a rock?
Is it for me?
Ok bisou gotta go!
And off he goes. 🤷♂️
Tabloid newspapers wouldn't exist if nobody bought them.
Fanatical TV hosts wouldn't stay on the air if they didn't represent anyone.
Corrupt politicians wouldn't rise to power if their rhetoric didn't resonate with a large portion of the population.
Getting angry at the figurehead means forgetting about the entire ship floating behind it – which wasn't built overnight.
Yes: it feels good to get angry, sometimes. And it's convenient to be able to focus your anger on the visible, obvious part of the problem. But by overlooking the underlying system, we only have a very partial understanding of the situation.
And we indirectly become part of the problem.
I now type relatively fast, around 70-80 words per minute, with good accuracy.
For someone who spends all day writing, that's handy: I can almost "dump my thoughts" onto the screen without looking at my fingers or falling behind.
The best site I've found for practice: keybr.com. It introduces letters one by one and lets you practice with punctuation, capitals, etc.
My advice:
It's quite a zen activity that clears the mind when you need to step back (from a piece of writing, from work). I recommend it.
That's the million-dollar question.
For most of us, I can answer: we stress.
We think about what we should be doing. We accept a few hours or a few days of inactivity (what we call "rest"), but very quickly, if the inaction persists, guilt takes over.
Then we switch to "reactive" action: the kind whose sole motivation is to silence the guilt.
We act "for the sake of acting," to avoid being seen as a slacker, to dissolve anxiety through movement.
People often joke that "if they could, they would do nothing, always on vacation!" But that's not true. Most would be unable to face the anxiety created by this void and would be back at work within the week. Not out of financial need: out of internal and social pressure.
So we always skip the most important step: idleness. The real kind. The kind that allows for introspection.
Keep doing nothing. Embrace the anxiety and guilt that rise up. Look them in the eye. Then watch them quietly fade away. Followed by a gentle feeling of emptiness. Then, when you least expect it...
Action. The real kind. The kind that builds something.
Strangely enough, it's easier for me to make one video per day than one video per week.
In the first case, I get into a flow that makes the process easier and easier. Ideas come thick and fast, the process is well-oiled, my brain has internalized the deadline. Everything clicks.
Today, for instance, I'm almost five videos ahead. And it was a breeze.
Whereas with weekly videos... I forget. It becomes just another constraint on top of everything else. I never find the time.
I'd already noticed this counterintuitive link between time and productivity: sometimes, a more intense task is easier.
For example, when I'm procrastinating on work that bores me, I ask myself "could I get this done in fifteen minutes?" I'm not talking about a tiny task, no, I mean writing a report or revising an edit, something that would normally take several days.
But my brain says "yes, let's do it in fifteen minutes!" and this unrealistic idea changes my relationship with the task. It suddenly seems more manageable, less of a big deal.
And easier to start. That's all that matters.
We picture a Buddhist monk sitting in lotus position in a quiet room with candles and running water.
In reality, you can meditate while walking through a construction site.
Meditation is simply bringing your attention to the present moment rather than to your thoughts.
Now, there's always something happening in the present. The sound of a car. The light from the sky. A breeze on your face. The sensation in your foot, in your torso, in your neck.
Like many people, I started meditating by focusing on my breathing.
We tell ourselves "easy"! But quickly, we realize we're bombarded with thoughts, ideas, anxieties. The game is to acknowledge their existence and greet them without getting hijacked.
And when a thought wins and we "wake up" after five minutes lost in our head, calmly come back to the breath. This isn't a failure, quite the opposite.
It's this back-and-forth that builds presence, like a muscle you train.
We work in one direction. We fail. We give up.
We tell ourselves "this wasn't meant for me, I'd be better off focusing on what I know how to do."
But some machines aren't resilient. A single missing part, wire, or gear, and nothing works. It won't even start, like a device with a blown fuse.
So it's possible to build 80, 90, or even 99% of a machine and, because of one oversight, get 0% of the result. Dead in the water, as if we'd done nothing (or done everything wrong).
It's true: the last few percent are often the hardest to achieve. And many systems aren't linear: they either work or they don't, regardless of how close you are to the result.
That's why there are far fewer "overnight" successes than we imagine. In reality, the creator had been working on it for a long time. They were about to give up. But at the last moment, they thought "what if I replaced this fuse?"
And the machine started up at full power.
Three well-chosen words pack more punch than a page of fluff.
Who are you trying to reassure with all that text?
Simplify!
You too can check that global warming isn't one big hoax by looking at the data near you:
Global warming in Trouville-Deauville
A chart I made as an exercise to learn the Pandas library (for processing data) in Python (a programming language), using Météo-France's ten-day temperature data for Saint-Arnoult.
You can clearly see the quarter-degree-per-century rise climatologists talk about.
I had already posted it on social media, but now that I can publish longer notes, I'm sharing the code below. If you want to check in your area too, here's how:
The steps are as follows:
# Importing necessary libraries
import pandas as pd
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt
import seaborn as sns
from scipy.stats import linregress
# Reading the CSV file of ten-day data
csv_file = "DECADQ_14_previous-1950-2023.csv.gz"
df = pd.read_csv(csv_file, sep=";")
# Converting the date column to datetime format
df['AAAAMM'] = pd.to_datetime(df['AAAAMM'], format='%Y%m')
# Filtering data for Saint-Gatien-des-Bois station
df_sg = df.loc[df['NOM_USUEL'] == 'ST GATIEN DES B', ['AAAAMM', 'TM']]
# Calculating monthly average temperatures
df_sg_mensuel = df_sg.groupby(df_sg['AAAAMM']).mean()
df_sg_mensuel.head()
# Calculating 12-month rolling average (annual average)
df_sg_mensuel['TM_MEAN'] = df_sg_mensuel['TM'].rolling(window=12).mean()
# Preparing data for linear regression
x_numeric = (df_sg_mensuel.index - df_sg_mensuel.index[0]).days / 365.25
y_values = df_sg_mensuel['TM']
# Calculating linear regression to identify the trend
slope, intercept, r_value, p_value, std_err = linregress(x_numeric, y_values)
df_sg_mensuel['TM_TENDANCE'] = (slope * x_numeric) + intercept
# Creating the chart
plt.figure(figsize=(10, 8))
# Plotting monthly temperature (in light gray)
sns.lineplot(x=df_sg_mensuel.index, y=df_sg_mensuel['TM'],
label='Monthly Temperature', color="grey", alpha=0.4)
# Plotting annual average (blue curve)
sns.lineplot(x=df_sg_mensuel.index, y=df_sg_mensuel['TM_MEAN'],
label='Annual Average', color='dodgerblue', linewidth=2.5)
# Plotting warming trend (red dashed line)
sns.lineplot(x=df_sg_mensuel.index, y=df_sg_mensuel['TM_TENDANCE'],
label=f'Linear Regression (+{slope*10:.2f}°C/decade)',
color='red', linestyle='--', linewidth=2.5)
# Customizing the chart
plt.title('Temperature at St Gatien des Bois (ten-day data)', fontsize=16)
plt.xlabel('Years', fontsize=12)
plt.ylabel('Temperature (°C)', fontsize=12)
plt.grid(False)
plt.show()
After the nasty feedback from my climate video, it doesn't hurt to double down.
As promised, I'm looking at my video stats less.
But a good way to tell when a video is doing well is when I get insulting comments.
My latest little joke about heatwaves and climate has already earned me three insults. Which means the video has spread beyond my tight circle of thoughtful, well-behaved viewers and spilled over to the people who watch Pascal Praud and Cyril Hanouna.
On social media, insults are a sign of success.
The mind seeks, finds, and solves problems.
That's its nature. It's all it knows how to do.
Say one day you find yourself on top of the mountain you've always wanted to climb. The view, the light, the temperature are perfect. It's the achievement of a lifetime. Your mind will whisper "Great... now what?"
It will find the flaw in your success. Make you long for the next peak that will be better. Already, you feel the anxiety of lack, dissatisfaction, desire.
You can't blame it: that's just its nature, I'm telling you! Analyze the situation, find the flaws, devise a plan... That's its job! That's why it exists!
Which makes it a terrible foundation for finding peace.
Don't get me wrong: thinking is a wonderful tool – one I'm using right now to write these lines. We put it to work to create, communicate, survive.
But if your goal is to be present and at peace: it's not the right tool at all.
Do you know how to set it down when you no longer need it?
When I have a problem, I have two ways to solve it:
Problems are a function of who we are.
By changing our inner dispositions, we transform our relationship to external circumstances. The problem that seemed insurmountable the second before vanishes.
The intellectual solution, on the other hand, often only shifts the difficulty. Once the first situation is resolved, a second one arises, just as problematic, because it comes out of the same crucible.
That's the trap of thinking: it solves problems, sometimes. But nine times out of ten, it creates them.
Which often makes it the wrong tool for growth.
If you catch yourself listing anything at all, you're probably on a slippery slope.
I see it in every field:
I could go on and on.
What breaks the cycle? Stopping. Refocusing. Starting over from taste, from instinct.
All it takes is one strong idea, one genuine direction, one carefully chosen piece to stop the mediocrity machine and find your way back.
Just one. Take the time to find it.
Not a fan of cocktail parties / social events / meetups? Bad at networking? Good news.
Whether it's finding love, friends, or a collaborator, I now always use the same technique, and it has transformed how I deal with groups:
Start by talking to the first person next to you.
Right away. Whoever it is. About anything.
Don't scan the room for the ideal conversation partner. Don't filter by attraction or compatibility. Don't wait for a particular topic or common interests.
Dive into the conversation, then naturally continue with the "next first person" – if they haven't already joined the conversation. And so on.
Before you know it, the person you were looking for (sometimes unconsciously) will be right beside you. And you won't have to figure out what to say because, when you realize it's them, you'll already be in the middle of a conversation.
You're welcome.
We often feel that to get ahead, especially professionally, we have to pretend. Say the right words. Put on the right smiles. Hide our true thoughts.
But actually, no.
Your personal and professional success depends entirely on your ability to integrate who you really are into every aspect of your life.
It's the source of your inner peace. But also the source of your productivity, your value, and therefore your usefulness to others. No one will pay you very much for being just like everyone else.
The good news is that this can be learned. All the people you admire have at some point gone through these stages in one form or another:
"Being yourself in a freakish environment, that's the real skill." – Conan O'Brien
This year, I led a weekly improv workshop that just had its first public performance.
People often tell me "I could never do that."
But this year I understood that improv actually has NOTHING to do with any of that.
You don't need to "be funny" or have a quick wit.
To build an unscripted story that captivates an audience, you just need to follow three simple rules:
I added a third rule, the most important one for me:
Next time, try this experiment: plan as much as you want, but at the last second, throw it all away. Enter the arena with an empty mind.
Three things will happen:
This year, I was lucky enough to experience this spontaneity and presence in a "safe space", within a group built on trust and laughter. I recommend it.
Lynch is dead.
Trump is going to be president.
The world is changing.
My father died when I was five.
One day, in front of a shop window, he asked me to choose a stuffed animal.
I wanted the big gray dog.
"Wouldn't you rather have the monkey?" – he'd had a monkey when he was young.
I said no, the dog.
So, the dog.
It's always stayed with me, almost by accident.
I never took special care of it.
It was never the first thing I packed when I moved.
I'd almost have forgotten it.
But somehow, it followed me.
Like a dog.
And recently, as it happens, I rearranged my room, and it's still there, sitting on a bench.
My room is almost empty, you see:
The bed, a few books, a wardrobe with not much in it.
And the dog.
And when my son sleeps over, often in the morning, he comes into my room and shouts "Big Dog!". He picks him up in his arms. He takes him to his room to play with his other stuffed animals. After a while, I tell him "Big Dog is tired, he has to go back to bed". He says okay and puts him back on his bench. He puts a bandage on him "because his paw hurts". He turns him the right way "so he can see".
It makes me smile every time.
But tonight, thinking about it all, I'm in tears.
Becoming a TikTok influencer was nowhere in my New Year's resolutions.
To give you an idea, three months ago I lumped TikTok in with Pokémon, Minecraft and manga: something young people do, probably great for them, but not for me.
Except now, I've become a (mini) TikTok star.
A short video I posted three days ago got ~~nearly~~ over 200,000 views; my follower count shot through the roof (UPDATE: 1,000!) and all my other videos are taking off. Things are picking up on Instagram too. Here's the video (YouTube version), and honestly, nothing about it said it would be a hit:
If you remember, I said in my previous post that I was going back to posting short videos (what YouTube calls "shorts" and Instagram "reels"), originally to share "philosophical notes" on YouTube. The philosophy went out the window and got replaced by questionable humor. For good measure, and to make the effort pay off, I made myself post on Instagram and TikTok as well. Of course, that's where it went viral.
It's another world. If I put my phone down for five minutes, I always come back to 99+ notifications: likes, comments, shares, new followers. It never stops, not even at night. And to my great surprise, all the comments so far are... extremely funny. People who get my humor and play along. Except on Instagram, where... it's more complicated.
It started as a way to quickly give shape to the ideas I have every day and don't plan to do anything in particular with. Not everything is meant to become a "film" in the full sense, with a script, production, post-production... So I shoot in under twenty minutes, usually while I'm out walking, edit on my phone and bam, I post. There's also the wish to find an audience that shares my quirks, my sense of humor, and will be happy to come to screenings when I put out more ambitious films. Get around the gatekeepers.
So I'm going to keep posting videos. We'll see where it goes. For now, when I take a break, I'm enjoying trading little jokes with the people it made laugh, and I ignore the insults.
You can follow the videos I post on TikTok, Instagram or YouTube.
UPDATE: Several of my videos have gone viral by now, and I've noticed something worrying:
I get roughly three kinds of comments on my videos: 1) people who find it funny and play along, 2) people who don't get that it's a joke and are more or less insulting, and 3)... bots.
When a video passes a certain threshold (around 50k views), I see coordinated waves of extremely alarmist, negative messages posted by very suspicious accounts (no posts, no profile picture, or AI-generated videos). For example, when I joke that fog is "proof we're in a video game that hasn't finished rendering the scenery", I'm hit by an army of near-identical stories (same phrases, same words) that reply to each other and hint at conspiracies, always extremely dark, involving poisonings, diseases and fear of anything foreign.
In these comments, I feel like I'm reading the seeds of the stupid remarks I hear at some dinner parties from people who then say "do your research". But it's true that if you take them for real, these comments piling up leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
In 2022, I shot a 10-minute improv video every day and posted it on YouTube. In 2025, I'm doing it again!
Why color grading is pointless.
Maybe not every day, and not 10 minutes: I'll make 1 to 3 minute shorts, edit them quickly on my phone and upload them... everywhere! YouTube, Instagram and TikTok, take your pick!
Alongside the videos, I'm starting a Notes section on this site, where I'll add the ideas, quotes and sources behind each video I post. I've been doing this in Obsidian for years, and I have over 2,000 notes. What makes them useful is that they're connected to each other, so you can dig deeper into a single subject.
Here's an example of a note / video pair, on My Dinner with Andre by Louis Malle:
My life in one film with Louis Malle
But the note that went with it has disappeared.
Episode 5 of our web series Panic in Space won second prize in the Audience Award at the Scientific Short Film Festival of Riom!
Since the start of fall, I've been trying something new:
Every Monday evening, along with some improv friends, we invite anyone interested to join us in the basement of Barlone for an improv workshop. Then, once a month – one Monday out of four – we record sketches with a live audience in front of a green screen. Entry is free as long as you order a drink.
So far, we mostly have professionals (actors, filmmakers), but everyone is welcome. We haven't fully nailed down the rules yet.
Improv session with Nino, Noémie, Stéphane, Constance and, in the back, Nicolas and Antoine.
What we're aiming for is a new way to create fiction, where acting – not writing – is at the heart of the process. We invent, build, and rehearse on the spot, without going through the script stage.
First shoot tonight. Theme: "The Catastrophe." Nothing is ready. I'll let you know how it goes.
Thanks to Barlone for hosting us with genuine warmth, as they do with all their events. And thanks to Cynthia Pedrosa for the illustration.
If you're interested in the adventure or want to join in, there's more info on our Facebook and Instagram pages.
The methods we're taught in school are bogus.
While you're busy researching and working on the fundamentals to avoid mistakes or rash actions (and not getting a bad grade because "you didn't work hard enough"), some smart alecks have already jumped in to grab everything there was to grab.
They've understood that the jury doesn't deliberate after the closing arguments: the decisions have already been made in the hallways, in the antechambers, between two doors, driven by those who didn't stay home to calmly ponder the problem.
Besides, what's the point of thinking? When the world boils down to "me against the others," there's no subtlety left to weigh. Acting is easy.
Thomas Piketty explains this well in a paragraph from Capital in the Twenty-First Century:
To be sure, there is a simple economic principle to balance the process: the law of supply and demand. If a good is in short supply and its price is too high, then demand for that good should fall, which will calm things down. In other words, if real estate and oil prices rise, just move to the countryside or ride a bike (or both). But aside from the fact that this can be unpleasant or complicated, such an adjustment can take several decades, during which the owners of the buildings and the oil can accumulate so many claims against the rest of the population that they will end up permanently owning everything worth owning, including the countryside and the bikes.
I think you can clearly see the consequences of this idea in the testimony of Jean-Baptiste Rivoire, former deputy director of Special Investigation, who recounts how Vincent Bolloré worked to strip Canal+ of real journalism (French only):
Jean-Baptiste Rivoire before the investigative commission regarding Vincent Bolloré's editorial influence over Canal+
It's a note I remember writing in my notebook a long time ago: "It's not the best who rise to the top." Or, as Keynes said:
"Capitalism is the extraordinary belief that the nastiest of men for the nastiest of motives will somehow work together for the benefit of all."
John Maynard Keynes
UPDATE: Another example from the New York Times. The lead Google has amassed by abusing its monopoly is one its competitors won't be able to close, despite the recent ruling against it.
A.I. didn't invent anything.
If you have 7 minutes, I recommend watching this Armenian animated short film from 1983. Starting at 1:30, you'll see that the psychedelic transformations of the demon Ekh closely resemble the nightmarish deep dreams of today's A.I.:
Moral of the story: always be kind to talking animals.
What a pleasure it was to attend the premiere of the documentary Les Sirènes de Dieppe at the Max Linder yesterday morning! An hour in the company of the drag performers of the Sirène à Barbe cabaret: the backstage, the camaraderie, the financial struggles, the fight against intolerance, and a bit of musical comedy. A film as accomplished as its subject is unexpected.
From left to right: Claire Babany (producer), Raphaël Bancou (composer), Fabienne Thibeault (godmother), Diva Beluga (performer and owner), Lily (performer), Nicolas Birkenstock and Nicolas Engel (filmmakers), and I can't remember the rest.
My composer friend Raphaël Bancou – whom I'd reconnected with after 10 years on that occasion – wrote the music. More on him soon.
If you're interested, the film by the two Nicolas (Birkenstock and Engel) will be available on replay starting September 19th on France TV, don't miss it. And if you're ever in Dieppe, go see the show!
I'm belatedly exploring the output of Giorgio Moroder, aka Giorgio, who seems to have influenced every electronic artist on the planet. Recently, I've been listening to this 1972 track on repeat:
The simplicity, the repetition, the crescendo. That's all it takes.
I registered after the deadline, so I couldn't schedule my meetings as well as I would have liked. Despite that, I caught up with friends, met some very nice people, went to some truly enlightening talks, and had a few drinks – it had been a while.
This festival is very well organized for meeting people – with meetings set up in advance and an app to get in touch. And Valence, I forget every time, but it's really pretty.
If you had asked me the day before yesterday, I would have told you I'm not really into concerts.
The music is too loud. There's too much commotion. It's too long.
But that was before my buddy Jackie Berroyer (who, let's not forget, was a music columnist for Hara-Kiri, and whom I'll be writing about here soon) invited me to see Fat White Family last night at La Cigale. Never heard of them. I wasn't expecting anything. "You'll see, they're pretty good, you might like them."
OK, now I get why people love concerts.
Incredible experience. Yes, the music was wild, hard-hitting rock, but with real craft, a progression, and some unexpected instruments (flute, baritone sax). Then there's the lead singer, Lias Saoudi. He's in shorts. By the second song, he's down in the pit singing in the middle of the crowd. That sets the tone. For the rest of the concert, he sings (sometimes screams, but without ever losing the music) balanced on amps, in a fetal position on the edge of the stage, or crowd-surfing.
From above, the pit pulses. It's a collective experience. But you can tell it's all masterfully controlled by a seasoned band: here and there, you catch the small, extremely precise signals the band gives the crew; behind the wild personas are professionals who have crafted a structured and generous show. And La Cigale, where you can move around freely, gives you both freedom and intimacy to enjoy it.
I can see how people who've experienced this once can keep going back to concerts, chasing that first "high". And why some old-timers endlessly reminisce about a show they saw in their youth: "Oh, you know, when I saw that band back in '76..."
"A concert like that, you remember it for the rest of your life," Jackie told me as we walked out. Looks like it.
If Sting repeats it three times in his song, it must be important.
It seems crucial to me, but also extremely difficult. All the authors (and all the humans) I admire found, at some point in their lives, "their" voice, their way of being, their view of the world, where many others keep "doing it like" their idols, imitating them (badly). Mind you: imitation is probably an essential first step. To admire is to be moved. Wanting to "be like" someone means recognizing something sublime in them that you wish you had. It shows a sensitivity that marks the beginning of everything. But to reach the next level, the second step isn't optional: you have to find those qualities in yourself. Develop your own tools. Shape your character out of what's inside you.
The main obstacles are always the same, it seems to me: fear and ignorance.
Fear of not being interesting enough. Fear of not being as cool, strong or tormented as those we envy. Fear of not having the right past, the right look, the right mind. Fear that it's too early or too late.
Spread over all of it, a layer of ignorance. Ignorance that these fears are natural, shared, collective. That they are often the driving force behind the talent and careers of those we admire. That, regardless of success, they will never leave us and so, when we put them to use, they are an intimate and inexhaustible source of creation.
"What they criticize you for, cultivate it: it's you." – Jean Cocteau