Richard Sides compiles film's sequences without any concession but facetiously, between hysteria and melancholy, like we open one window after another on the Internet. While a Bach's cantata, the hit Drive by The Cars, or electronic and more abstract sounds are to be heard, he surfs, zaps, skips from one thing to another. He creates a visual language with multiple entries, even if it's made with "déjà-vu," "déjà-lu," contaminated elements, where images, sounds, and writings collide in an enigmatic maelstrom! He tries so to liberate the way the world is made by these catch-all networks, using their own weapons—low quality, brutal editing, hypnotic and nauseating violence, goofy kitsch—and proposing to overpass this powerful and authoritarian wave to question and give back sense to all theses sequences, these collages. He wanders about and catches the spirit of the time: its funny and dramatic banality, its violence, its crises, its desires. Desire for something else, elsewhere, a new world …
But which world are we part of? We are going from one reality to another; we travel, we pass through virtual windows, the curtains of Vivaldi's concertos and the one's of the hits of Pop music. We don't resist a candy bar, we are practicing meditation, we wish to be famous — it's Hollywood you idiot! — and to be ourselves … We are Red Bull and Valium at the same time, but nevertheless we look like, ever and ever, tourists following the guide, indifferent ruminants. Something sounds bad in the Argonaut's web world. "You can't go on, thinking nothing's wrong," is whispering us, without being too serious, the Richard Sides' ritornello.