Hamoudi Laggoune, directeur de la photographie

In this rare exchange, almost shrouded in chiaroscuro as it reveals words usually kept off-screen, Hamoudi Laggoune unveils himself with humble precision and disarming lucidity, reflecting at length on his artistic partnership with Merzak Allouache, but also on the profound nature of a profession too often relegated to a mere technical function, even though, in his own words, it constitutes one of the beating hearts of cinema. As the conversation unfolds, a demanding philosophy of the image emerges, conceived not as mere ornamentation but as a language, a veritable musical score addressed to instincts rather than intellect, capable of transcending cultures and touching, with an almost primal immediacy, every viewer, regardless of their background or points of reference. Laggoune emphasizes the unique responsibility of the cinematographer, the filmmaker's alter ego from the very first stages of the project, tasked with translating into visible form—light, framing, movement—intentions initially inscribed in the script, without ever betraying the director's original vision. The interview then becomes a territory of exploration, where childhood memories intersect—those screenings in the darkened cinemas of Algiers, marked by the formative impact of Omar Gatlato—with more technical reflections on editing, point of view, and the expressive power of off-screen space, whose capacity to evoke desire, frustration, or unease he underlines, without ever resorting to mere demonstration. Through these examples, Laggoune reminds us that cinema is not simply about telling a story, but about orchestrating sensations, constructing a sensory experience where each formal choice acts, often unbeknownst to the viewer, as an emotional lever. His account of working on Le Repenti or Première ligne also sheds light on Merzak Allouache's unique method, characterized by rigorous preparation and freedom on set, a rejection of artifice in favor of an organic, sometimes raw, but always meaningful image. He discusses rapid filming, accepted constraints, constant negotiations regarding lighting, but also this persistent search for the truth of the moment, for a first take that would capture, in its very fragility, something irreducible. This dialogue, interwoven with a reflection on Algerian cinema and its limitations—too often trapped by illustrative language at the expense of cinematic expression—concludes with a form of artistic fidelity that Laggoune wholeheartedly embraces: that of a long-term apprenticeship with a filmmaker whose perseverance and freedom he admires, and who, film after film, continues to affirm that cinema, far from being a comfortable pursuit, remains above all a struggle. A dense, inhabited conversation that subtly conveys what it truly means to "make an image" — not to embellish reality, but to give it a form capable of resonating long after the projection has ended.