On a train to Rostov-on-Don in 1980, Malian-Mauritanian bursary holder Abderrahmane Sissako met the Angolan Afonso Baribanga, who had also been sent to the USSR. Both are supposed to learn Russian. Sissako studied film directing at the WGIK in Moscow, while Baribanga pursued a different career and eventually returned to Angola, where a post-colonial civil war was raging. Years later, Sissako sets off in search of his vanished friend, travelling to his own and Baribanga’s African homelands, where the old and new world powers have left devastating traces. In 1997, in a side section, DOK Leipzig presented the feature-length version of Sissako’s travelogue, which is steeped in contemporary and colonial history. The 2024 Retrospective presents an abridged version.

Inspired by the estate of a Romanian photographer in which 5,000 glass plate negatives from the 1930s to the 1950s survived undiscovered for a long time, a touching love story evolves. In 1939, Anna Florea meets the young soldier Jean Mihail in her home village in Bukovina. A moonshine kiss seals their affection. But all too soon, Jean is ordered to the frontline. His passionate letters keep the connection alive. But when Anna must flee the site, the contact breaks off.
Their great love is fragile, damaged by war and time – just like the old studio and everyday photographs this animated documentary uses to illustrate optimism and impending loss. Anna Florea herself narrates the film: in retrospect, at the age of 91. Her warm and gentle voice reanimates the memories seemingly stored in these pictures. Those “frozen” on the photographic plates begin to move, are made to glow in oil-on-glass overpaintings, blossom and take us with them into the past.

Up north, the leaves on the trees are turning colour, winter is just around the corner. The bear and her friend, the bird, are still romping about the hills near the forest, but it is getting time for her to retire for hibernation. When the moment has come, she longingly thinks of the bird which has by now flown far south. She decides to travel the world to follow it. A film adventure for all ages.

This still controversial ethnofiction is one of Jean Rouch’s most famous films. It stages followers of the Hauka cult in Ghana incorporating their colonial masters to marching music imported from Europe. The disturbing work was released at the same time as the first Leipzig festival year, but would have gone beyond the scope of the “Culture and Documentary Film Week”. This was because the festival did not adopt an international focus until 1960. Nevertheless, Rouch floats through Leipzig’s festival history as an inspiring genius: He is regarded as the founder of Cinéma-Vérité, a documentary concept that was pursued with great interest in Leipzig, and he irritated the colonial gaze by encouraging African filmmakers to determine the images of their continent themselves.

One day, the young mother Christelle panics and runs. Her husband Laurent sets out to find her, baby in arms. He questions her father, sister, friends. Suddenly, Christelle’s disappearance exposes cracks that had remained hidden in a seemingly perfect world. A complex network of relationships turns out to be a fragile house of cards. Dominique Cabrera’s third feature film brings together a magnificent ensemble of actors, all of whom are allowed to express the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of their characters with wit and empathy, above all Marilyne Canto, who plays the leading role here and whom Cabrera cast in four of her five feature films.

The filmmaker’s grandmother moved into this house in 1971. When Rolande Ségalini died, everything remained as it was during her lifetime. But what to do with all the accumulated things? As her granddaughter Céline begins to film this material legacy, she realises that her grandmother has remained an enigma to her to this day. Room by room, she inventories, classes, counts, sorts the possessions retrieved from wardrobes, drawers, cabinets and boxes and arranges the objects into new still lives. It is an attempt to understand the deceased woman better and find out more about her. Step by step, the heiress discovers various connections to France’s colonial history.
The film unfurls the facets of a discreet relationship with one’s origin – searching, questioning, interpreting, at the same time investigating the construction and external perception of identity, the practice of passing. The things of a life, displayed like the findings of an archaeological dig, are laid out ready to be analysed. They express a desire: to be recognised as a white Frenchwoman.

The 1990s were the heyday of the lightweight and affordable Hi8 cameras, a time that brought forth many first-person documentaries. Unlike most of these films, Cabrera’s diary, shot in 1995, is not a purely introspective work. She focuses primarily on the others: her adolescent son, her ex-husband and her new love, her mother and the strangers on the train and in the streets. Her form of autobiography is always collective, social, polyphonic. It is only the other’s gaze, the returned gaze, that makes understanding and insight possible. The camera serves as a catalyst of communication, creating trust and distance at the same time, opening eyes and ears.

In 1937, Dominican dictator Rafael Leónidas Trujillo ordered the murder of the Haitian population of the Dominican Republic. Tens of thousands were brutally killed. A language test made the difference between life and death: The Creole-speaking Haitians who could not pronounce the Spanish word “perejil” had to die, which is why this genocide went down in history under the innocuous name of “Parsley Massacre.” Until today, the region is marked by deep traumatisation, racism and classism, which are linked to the colonialist past of this two-state island.
Haitian filmmaker Pierre Michel Jean approaches this rarely examined subject with great delicacy and succeeds in creating a history lesson that combines different historiographies – from factual research to problematic narrative constructions through to the haunting testimonies of the last survivors – in a kind of montage of knowledge. At the same time, his documentary addresses the complexity of collective guilt and the important question of who can and should say “mea culpa” today, more than eighty years later. A performance workshop organised by theatre director Daphné Ménard, which brings together artists from both states, and the memories of the elderly Henry Noncent form the heart of this filmic monument whose empathy makes it compelling.

An Athenian filmmaker is struggling with insomnia and seeks help from a tarot reader. She says that when she does manage to sleep, her dreams are strange, she dreams of her childhood apartment, where everyone has turned to stone. Yet such surreal thoughts hardly sound outlandish given the current state of Greece: petrified monuments to past glories as far as the eye can see, even as any sort of movement in the present has slowed to a standstill. She sets out to understand this curious paradox, dipping into literature, fiction and documentary to do so, disparate elements given unity by playfulness, political sensibility and shimmering celluloid.
Conversations with locals on the streets of the Greek capital about the nature of statues; the 1944 manifesto by poet Yorgos Makris that proposed blowing up the Parthenon and the groupuscule that now seeks to complete his work; the story of the political prisoners forced to rebuild the same monument in miniature; a rogue Caryatid now discovering love. Such times are hard to make sense of, whether in Greece or beyond, and perhaps there is only one way to proceed, to move forward, to live: everything bit by bit. “When will we gather the world together piece by piece?”