TREMOR is driven by the voices that run through it – the voices of poets and madmen, of a mother or a child. From reflexive thought to spontaneous account, from witness statement to fiction, in turn they talk about their experience of violence and war. We listen to them while our gaze is taken to places and scarred landscapes that are impossible to place. Noises from elsewhere filter through. The image becomes distorted and porous. Music starts to play. The film hones in on the presence of a pianist, before diffracting again… TREMOR is a sensory journey between memory and nightmare. An act of resistance.