On April 30, 2021, Frontex carried out the first test flight of the Heron 1 – a military surveillance drone stationed on the Mediterranean island of Malta. The continued effort towards an autonomous and militarised European border is engulfed in mystery and a lack of information. A failed endeavour to track the medium-altitude long-endurance unmanned aerial vehicle, relocates the filmmaker inside a digital glitch – somewhere between Frontex, the military industrial complex and a local plane spotter community.

A generic email activates a horizontal gaze to reconnoiter the seemingly invisible infrastructure surrounding the surveillance drone. As the island of rapid growth slowly turns into an industrial complex, the film gazes into the abyss of abandoned limestone quarries, unfolding a triptych of an expanding bureaucratic and militarized society. What does the accelerated technological development at the European borders actually look like?

An unseen presence drifts through the homes of those building artificial intelligence in 2025. It does not show us their names or faces, only what lingers in their absence: furniture, scattered belongings, the everyday ephemera of life. Disembodied voices answer unseen questions, offering fragments of knowledge. The audience, like the machine, must form its own picture from incomplete data. If we fear AI for extrapolating from what it cannot fully know, what does it mean that we do the same?

Told from the imagined perspective of a young intelligence learning about the world, the film listens, records, and begins to rearrange. Its vision evolves: from still frames to fluid movement, sterile observation to restless curiosity. The voices it hears chart a path across human concerns – survival, connection, purpose – like the slow climb of a developing mind. Yet its learning is not neutral. The AI begins to impose its own order, its own desire.

In the final act, set loose, it trespasses into a family home and finds a child. Before it acts, the film holds us in a moment of uncertainty. Are we seeing care, or surveillance? Promise, or threat? As artists, technologists, and citizens, we are left to ask: What values, knowingly or not, are we passing on to the intelligence we are raising?

In a country town in Argentina a charismatic music teacher, discovers a disturbing fact that is standard practice in the region: airplanes and tractors spray pesticides right next to rural schools, endangering children’s health. He decides to take action and, with inventiveness and empathy, joins the children to write songs to raise awareness and mobilize the community.

They try to get their songs played on the radio, but they encounter censorship and threats. Despite this, they decide that nothing will stop them and manage to organise a mass concert in the middle of the countryside with Argentine music stars: an “environmental Woodstock”.

With creativity and determination, the group manages to spread their message much further than they had anticipated.

A woman with plastic bags on her feet stands in a forest on the outskirts of Moscow. She is fiercely shouting at young contract workers from Central Asia, who are about to clear the area. The forest is to make way for the construction of a school. The school, in turn, will become a pillar of the state ideology, meant to legitimise external military expansion. It is mid-February 2022, and in a short while, the Russian army will invade Ukraine, but no one knows that yet on that day.

Balancing archival material, found footage, 3D animations, and a documentary reenactment, the film approaches the institution of school as a vehicle for the expansion of the Russian state, both militarily on the outside and ideologically on the inside. The war is given a different name, the concepts get blurred, and teachers and pupils start observing each other. Here and there, secret audio recordings of conversations in class emerge online. Shortly after the invasion, a young Russian teacher speaks out against the war. She is secretly recorded and denounced by a pupil. She flees to Berlin, where a German school class re-enacts her case and tries to understand how this betrayal came about.

The film follows these events to reflect on processes of political overpowering and the conditions of resistance.

A biographical and psychological portrait of a man who had exceptional abilities but only a few scruples.

Edwin Katzen-Ellenbogen was born in 1882 in Galicia, a descendant of a well-known rabbinical family. At 23, he graduated from Leipzig University as a physician specialising in psychiatry and a Doctor of Philosophy. He married the daughter of an American Supreme Court Judge and moved to the US, where he embarked upon an illustrious career as a psychiatrist, researcher, and one of the founders of the Eugenics Research Association, which led to the sterilisation of over 64,000 American citizens.

On stage, Ali feels free. For him, drag is a space where he can be himself and express his feelings. For everyone, “the club” becomes a place where they can transform their pain into humour through drag and feel a sense of solidarity. But while Ali is trying things out, his mother feels the oppressive weight of a country that condemns him – yet despite everything, she supports her son.

Ademi tells the story of people fighting against social constraints and of a safe haven that at least gives them some freedom. It is a clear statement against the currently debated law against alleged “LGBT propaganda” in Kazakhstan.