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 drunken drive through the night with a badger at the wheel. The car radio is a crooning, rhythmic companion and rhythm generator to the reeling road, the will-o’-the-wisp headlights of oncoming cars. The beginning becomes the end of a bizarre journey that turns our heads not by speed but by narrative sophistication in visually magnificent concentration.

A film about men and games, somewhere in the Mediterranean, directed by a Slovenian master of the playful, somewhere between speculative and pseudo-documentary form. Oily bodies in a wrestling match, hooking fingers, a wheel of cheese rolled through a village – all these are archaic occupations of the utmost importance. The filmmaker meticulously captures the events until he is overcome by a major creative block. From now on, he will experience his surroundings as part of the game. Childhood memories and the footage of the unfinished film project merge seamlessly into an ode to the absurdity of the gesture.

A wonderful example of a TV documentary that transcends the limitations of the TV screen. “Slices of Time” tells the story of two women born during the First World War who saw the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy collapse and a new state form: Yugoslavia. The two grandmothers of the author Zemira Alajbegović Pečovnik lived in different cultural and religious spheres – one in predominantly Muslim Bosnia, the other in Christian-influenced Slovenia – and yet were connected through their children and grandchildren. Global and personal history, childhood, love and wars intertwine.

Coupledom has its own dynamics. Her professional obligations do not tick by the clock, his cooking and love are extraordinary, but, alas, precisely timed. This all too familiar incompatibility is condensed into murky, acrid roast fumes. What was intended as a pleasant evening for two ends civilized, but bloody: black humour, “well done”.

Coupledom has its own dynamics. Her professional obligations do not tick by the clock, his cooking and love are extraordinary, but, alas, precisely timed. This all too familiar incompatibility is condensed into murky, acrid roast fumes and ends civilized, but bloody. Špela Čadež gradually slows down the pace, creating a space for the absurd goings-on to penetrate deeper and deeper. Black humour, “well done”.

The Beezes are feathered but not very airworthy creatures, situated somewhere between primates and birds on the evolutionary ladder. Their appetite for cherries grows as soon as summer has arrived. But they are hanging so high in the trees that they are out of reach. Undeterred, the Beezes try to overcome the limits of their biological evolutionary stage – a gaudy affair.

Life in the box is wretched – until a creature begins to grow that’s different from its flat-headed roommates: It sings and gets excited. A nuisance, the others think. But the boy continues to grow until he towers over all of them … With the sophisticated, horror movie like aesthetics of his parable, Dušan Kastelic defined new quality standards for 3D computer animations.

Tomaž Pavkovič finds reams of film material in a box that tells not only the story of his family but of a whole country: His father’s life ran almost parallel to the development of Yugoslavia, which permeates each of his recordings. The parades in the countryside, later the move to the city and life as a working-class family, in between always President Tito, even if only as a tattoo on a diver’s chest. The sons are left with the abstract memory of a state that has ceased to exist, that is itself a box. Do the images you find in the box tell you something about yourself, too?

The essayistic off-text by the Croatian poet Marko Pogačar, written in close collaboration with the director, frequently describes scenes that are shown at an entirely different point in the film – gaps yawn between the representation and one’s memory that can only be approached by circling them. To do this, not the least tools the film uses are an idiosyncratic, driving selection of music and a good dose of dry humour.

An animated folkloristic Western, using clichés, local stereotypes and national myths to sketch a kind of satirical profile of “wild” Slovenia, its colourful costumes and strange customs. Boris Dolenc has adapted a cartoon by Vladan Nikolić, who in turn drew on the motifs and visual language of the painted beehive boards typical of Slovenia.

A hungry and solitary weasel roams the dry landscape, intent on hunting the last remaining birds in a tree. The birds try to keep the tree in balance while the weasel doggedly climbs its trunk. The tree sways, the stomach growls, the weasel persists until it’s too late. A classic anti-hero cartoon – not just for children.