The minimal and conceptual direction the situation was taking, despite all expectations any human on this planet always has, started to intrigue me. The ‘documentary’ walked on slender legs and any piece of information was to be an element of an imaginary puzzle conducting to the presence or absence of the white whale .
A ‘documentaire indicielle’, a documentary or small film which lost its primary target and was floating around.
From the very day we spotted 2 beluga skulls on Johann’s boat until the moment a fisherman told us the migration would just not hit their shores, from the moment the narwhals, close relatives of the belugas, were captured and cut into pieces, I understood the small film would have its own logic. The growing absence of the beluga turned into its own micro-myth in the film, not unlike the ghosty white whale in Melville’s “Moby Dick”.

Filip Francis, a belgian painter in his fifities, is the only one in the film to actually have seen a beluga, along a river in Flanders on a beautiful sunny day in ‘66. He joyfully even added the quote “my parents were angry, they thought I was stoned again...”.