On a moonless night, a cheeky bull escapes from his herd. He dashes through fields and over hills until he finally stops at a pond, where a piece of paper on which a poem is emerging attaches itself to him. The bull shakes off the paper and sneaks into town, where he watches people at their nocturnal business. He witnesses a police investigation, listens in on two truck drivers and observes the theft of a bus stop shelter. All these experiences are accompanied by the narrator’s poetic comments and culminate in a hilarious singing sequence, complete with a dance and performance number by the bull.

Meanwhile, the people in the town are in an uproar about the undetectable moon. They search, discuss and protest. But the moon stays missing – until the bull transforms himself at the end of his journey.

There was an eery silence after a fire had destroyed the Moria camp completely in September 2020. Not just locally, but in public discourse. The world did not seem particularly concerned with the inhumane conditions in other camps on Europe’s external borders or the countless pushbacks in the Mediterranean. Nor did the arrest of six adolescents who were accused of arson resonate in any audible way – though even a second glance at the circumstances of the investigation and the criminal proceedings revealed the actions of the Greek judiciary to be questionable. Not to mention the underlying refugee policy of the European Union.
Jennifer Mallmann dares to take this second glance with her film. At its centre is her correspondence with Hassan, one of the convicted youths, who tells her of his everyday life, his desires and fears from prison. Calm, precisely framed images document “normality” on the fringes of Fortress Europe. They show how strategical isolation and the ensuing structural exclusion work. If you want to know how our community of nations imagines its future you only need to look at the newly-built futuristic high-security camps, where new arrivals are treated like people who have committed serious crimes.

In the deliberately chosen style of an old-fashioned field report, a fictional explorer describes his observations on gold-mining in Venezuela. His mission takes him along the Orinoco, from remote jungle mines to industrial zones. His focus stays on the workers and their environment. The titular Moriche palm tree, an edible and crop plant growing along the river, serves as an example for the relationship between humans and nature and their use of raw materials. Paradoxically, the gold-diggers live in harmony with Mother Earth as their nourisher and healer, but at the same time destroy her. As in so many other places in the world, their very survival depends on an economic system inherited from colonialism. The rapid pace of capitalism is in glaring contradiction to the arduous extraction of the gold dust, produced only by slow processes of erosion.
As the narrator drifts along the river and meditates on different contexts, the images work their way through the layers of the complex subject. The immersive poetic journey alternates between observational Bolex shots, hand-drawn illustrations and abstract visualisations of photochemical reactions. Accompanied by a sound design both distinct and elaborate, the lustre of the gold literally glitters from the screen.

Moscow, summer 1957: The famous amateur filmmaker Alfred Dorn takes us to the 6th World Festival of Youth and Students, which was intended to promote encounters and exchange between young people from all over the world as a reaction to the Second World War. Curious and amazed, the camera explores the metropolis Moscow with its iconic buildings and squares, complete with numerous festival visitors.

Vincent Monnikendam calls his archive film “a kinematographic image of the Dutch-Indies 1912 – c. 1933” in the subtitle, echoing the ponderous bureaucratic language of the Dutch authorities who at the time commissioned the footage he re-edited. He condensed some 280,000 metres of nitrate film, shot by professionals but left largely uncut, into a compilation about indigenous people and their immigrant rulers in the former colony. The originally silent footage begins to speak – not in an explanatory voiceover, but in the songs and stories of the colonized. The images are unchanged. But they have to be read in a new way.

Dragica does not lack for work. The house and cattle in western Serbia demand toil from dawn to dusk. She milks, harvests, prepares porridge for her handicapped daughter. Her own mother recently passed away. Now Dragica wears black and shaves her old father. Can there be an alternative to this daily self-sacrifice? Almost casually, Isaac Knights-Washbourn leaves space for such reflections: While chopping tomatoes, the woman opens up to a guest from town.

In rural northern Colombia, where the railway has long been discontinued, people help themselves with a fleet of “Motorrodillos” – motorcycle-driven miniature trains. Every day, Dolly and her colleagues take school kids, goods and travellers on rugged routes from village to village. If you meet oncoming traffic on the way, you get off the rails. If you find holes in the rails, you mend them yourself. The affectionate portrait of a self-organised transport system.

Four paramedics in a distant mountain village at the beginning of the Covid pandemic go from one house to another, from measurements to diagnoses, from tired older women to drunk middle-aged men. Hreshko watches them closely: They get baptised, married and buried. Yet the ambulance team stays the same, does its job, and ultimately provides the emotional core of this kaleidoscopic view of people’s stories and tragedies.

Two mice discover a big wheel of cheese. Paradise, no less! But how to get in? One mouse has made it, its little brother is outside on his own and must watch out for the hungry cat. Inside the cheese wheel, the mouse lives like a king, eating its way through the yellow treat. But every bite brings it closer to the collapse of its house …

A brilliant and highly poetic collection of tiny moving image moments which offers aesthetic delights through cleverly chosen camera angles, framing, lighting, montage and the materials used. This archive of trifles remains silent. The eyes begin to hear, the sound is generated in the mind. Simply enchanting.

The child and the otter live in a small cottage in the woods. Their water source has dried up a while ago. In their distress they set out together to the snow-covered mountains to bring back a supply from the icy summits … With her first animated film, illustrator Malin Neumann delivers a poetic tale in warm colours about the vital importance of water.

Jane’s mother is going through hard times and informs her that she will have to spend Christmas with her grandmother “Onion” in the country this year. No argument. Jane doesn’t feel like it at all: how boring! Against all odds, the holidays turn out to be a real adventure. Jane meets new friends and begins to open up to others.

Today is the great derby between FC Cubs and FC Tigers. With the brawny Cheeky in the goal, the kitten’s victory is all but guaranteed. But their plan is thwarted by the cunning Scallywag. Will his tricks be enough to win the match? “Muri the Cat” is a mini-series based on Slovenian children’s books: gaudy and merry.

A touching dive under the sea, as we meet teenager Kanope on his journey to Europe. And we, underwater, with him. Poetic and beautifully animated, the film is grounded in the tragedy of those who could not finish their journey. “Murmuration” is inspired by real stories of minor migrants, who also contributed their voices to the film.

Flocks of starlings are circling above the retirement home. These impressive natural spectacles are called murmurations because from a distance they sound like collective murmuring. Not everyone hears or sees them, but the old man notices. Sometimes the starlings send a single twittering messenger to his window. Often, the birds are more present to him than his fellow humans, more present than the old demented fellow resident who regularly waters a still life of flowers, more present than his neighbours in the amateur choir. And then it happens: The old man finds a first feather in his hair, then a second, then several. Soon he grows a beak so that instead of singing he can only caw.
The last phase of life we witness here is lovingly animated: The puppet animation was created with gauze bandages, a beautiful approach to the vulnerability that comes with aging. The farewell to life shown here is devoid of pathos, not even that over-produced grief we know from many narratives of dying. Even the retirement home is a completely mundane place, neutrally portrayed. Instead, we follow this feathered farewell as a quiet but growing alienation from the world, a no-longer-belonging. And one day we will all grow the wings that go with it.

Sexual hallucinations of an abandoned man in which literally everything turns into a questionable object of throbbing lust. The hell of jealousy mingles with the bonfire of vanities and pink longing fades into purple desire: lecherous bodies. Pounding pain. Panting music. Phallus seeks vagina. Eternal, restless, greedy.