Entre Nous plays as a film being shot in real time. “Moteur. Ça tourne. Action,” Marion Barbeau calls, and a numbered scene begins, then begins again, replayed until something in it shifts. It is also a game between her and Daniel Proietto, the rules simple and not quite fair: me against you, this side against that, everything on the table is mine.

What they play out is a contest of power and privilege. They split into opposites, left and right, and fight not over food or water but over ideas, until, as Marion says, they grow more and more stupid. Between takes they recite the catechism of the contemporary self: I love my life, I am the centre of my life, the world is me, I have the right.

Underneath the game runs something more tender and harder to hold. Beneath the performance the piece keeps reaching for a simpler wish: to still be beside someone when the noise has worn out, in a time that does everything to pull people apart.

Built from these replayed scenes, comic and cruel by turns, Entre Nous asks what is real between two people. “We pretend to love when we should be honest,” Marion says, “we lie and we forget, but in the mirror we see who we were.” Assembled in front of us, the duet becomes a study of how a relationship is remembered, edited, and survived.