At some point years ago, Joel’s life took a wrong turn. He let himself be drawn in by the energy of unscrupulous gangsters to run criminal errands for a pittance. He has known his way around envelops and guns ever since. But now the day has come when he wants to leave the sinister night shifts behind and follow his actual destiny: repairing motors, keeping his car repair shop in Mexico City afloat and getting people moving. But the gang boss chooses the birthday of Joel’s beloved nephew of all days to direct him to a last job. Joel must debate this with himself and, above all, make a decision.
Director Esteban Azuela stages this debate in a space of passage between this world and the next, where decisions can no longer be revised, only relived. With an intricately composed mix of memory fragments, car body parts and existential junk he adequately brings his protagonist’s breathless existence to the big screen. Jagged 3D scans animated in single-frame captures as well as camera angles and plotlines from the early days of ego shooter games stylishly evoke the urban Mexico of the 1990s: heated, threatening, refusing to stand still.

In early 2020, the lockdown has brought the world to a halt. Homes become space stations, hermetically sealed off from the outside world. Nobody goes out, only the thoughts go wandering. Students of seven international universities exchange personal impressions of and reflections on this forced isolation online and get to know each other through this joint project.

A fire breaks out in the cornfield where Dolores plays a game of hide and seek. As she flees, the little girl tumbles into a deep hole in the ground. When she regains consciousness, it turns out that she is not alone in the darkness. Two spooky old women are trying their best to keep Dolores in the cave. A small clay armadillo sees through the creepy old women’s plan and helps Dolores escape. She makes it back to the top but must still find the path out of the cornfield.
It is not only the outstanding stop motion animation, the expressive puppets and the fantastic sets that give the audience some pleasant thrills here. In perfect harmony with the background music, this film puts us in a trance – almost as if we were sharing a magic potion with Dolores and the two ghostly creatures and dancing around a fire until the borders between reality and dream, between this world and the hereafter begin to blur. While out in the cornfield the rain sets in.

Former fighters of the Colombian FARC guerilla report in letters on their most formative experiences from their time in the armed underground. University students from three continents adapt these personal memories in a parallel collective process to develop a touching film whose visual joy of experimentation is impressive.

In 2018, thousands of people from Latin America set out together, fleeing from a lack of perspective, poverty and violence to the U.S. Among them Lilian, a single mother from Guatemala, who found the courage to leave her violent husband. The caravan was her only chance to achieve this act of strength. Nevertheless: 4,000 kilometres with four small children, walking, hitchhiking and travelling north on “La Bestia”, the freight train, are still extremely perilous.

The film contrasts the media coverage with a sensitive view that deliberately focuses on one family. It registers inconceivable hardships, but also great helpfulness, Lilian’s power of endurance and her ability to make the exertions seem like an adventure trip for her children – at least occasionally. Despite this lightness, though, the struggle remains as present as the fact that the US is simultaneously building a wall to prevent anyone from crossing the border. When Lilian and her children reach the border after weeks of fear, she breaks down. Suddenly the question arises whether her goal is really this rich country. Isn’t it rather about finally standing up to male dominance and traditional gender roles? It’s very obvious that one thing remained on Lilian’s arduous way: Fear has yielded to a new self-confidence.

Breathtakingly beautiful and precisely synchronised circles perform linear movements – sensual highs, but based on science. Electronica producer and science PhD Max Cooper has found the perfect visual fit for his euphoric and driving track in a geometrical principle described by Gerolamo Cardano in 1570 and in Mario Carrillo’s animation.

Cristobal, a young fisherman at work outside the Mexican port of Lázaro Cárdenas, shares his insights: Fishing is harder than working out. Also, he and the sea are connected by a progressing disease. At night he perceives what can only be grasped from the boat: the chemicals flowing into the water, the smell, the red lights of the steel mill. “Men of Salt” tells of a dilemma: What if you identify with an ecosystem that’s ceaselessly being abused?

More than twenty years have passed since the death of Catalan architect Enric Miralles. He left iconic traces with his buildings, not just in and around Barcelona – the Scottish parliament in Edinburgh is also based on his designs. Maria Mauti chooses a poetic approach to her impressive protagonist, in eleven variations. They take us from the Igualada cemetery to a community centre in Hostalets de Balenyà, a gym in Huesca or the Torre Marenostrum office skyscraper in Barcelona. The architect’s home with its open and at the same time labyrinthine character is given a major role, becoming the starting point and epicentre of a unique mind.
Maria Mauti carefully scans the still lively architectures, stages them. In Huesca, the smell of a sweating soccer team seems to mingle with the omnipresent cool raw concrete, while a group of Spanish cowboys and cowgirls shake their leather boots in the futuristic community centre. Despite the tragic note that comes from the work of the prematurely deceased, “Miralles” is not without a certain wit. This poised essay which combines personal and theoretical statements achieves a multi-layered quality that is in itself evocative of a Miralles design: airy and dense, abrupt and fluid, always idiosyncratic.

Karla is a dreamer, Karla is charismatic, and Karla is trans. She grows up with her parents in the small Mexican town of Tepoztlán. She loves to wear make-up and dress up. But sometimes, when the world is too much for her, she hides in her room for hours. Fortunately, Karla has friends and a family who support, often understand and sometimes challenge her.
Trans filmmaker Kani Lapuerta followed the daily life and transition of his protagonist over a period of eight years. The result is a colourful, playful and political coming-of-age story told from a trans perspective. Together, Karla and Kani create a cinematic space where their fantasy is as important as their identity – and where both flow into each other. The title of the film refers to a possible gender-neutral form of the Spanish term “niños” that also includes non-binary, trans and gender-fluid children. “Niñxs” is a touching, encouraging film about childhood, creativity and self-empowerment – and a compelling plea for a world in which everyone is simply allowed to be themselves.

“Do not attempt to reason with this movie. It is raving mad and makes no sense at all.” Aria Covamonas places this announcement right at the start of this wild cutout animation ride through Chinese and Western history (of philosophy) – and keeps their word. Countless figures appear in seemingly arbitrary order who, with no discernible common thread, condemn to death, argue or flirt – but do it in the most absurd and funny way. At one point, for example, Plato appears, who must be bathed by the elephants because he spent too much time in his cave. But Mao, Mickey Mouse, Nietzsche and Lacan also make appearances. They are all taken from the public domain, as are the Chinese dialogues which issue from their mouths, edited by rhythm; the English subtitles have nothing to do with them.
According to Covamonas, any interpretation is possible – and welcome. Nonetheless, themes begin to emerge: The arbitrary use of violence that characterises every authoritarian regime is lampooned, and so is the absurdity of every canon. But Covamonas, too, is influenced by it: A visual homage to Dadaistic collage art à la Hannah Höch, an acoustic reference to the noise of early sound films, this exuberant treasure-trove of sampled global culture can be thoroughly enjoyed and invites us to discover references while drifting through it.

On an uninhabited island off the Mexican Pacific coast, members of the army do their uneventful duty. The film watches drills and everyday routines, but mainly the breaks which they spend playing board games in the shade of trees, in hammocks, swimming, flying kites or doing karaoke. The peaceful environment, however, does not hide the violent reality of their country which they are always confronted with, even out here.

In this paradisiacal seeming island landscape, the life marked by gang wars which these young men and women escape for an indeterminate time is visible only in metaphorical images, for example when the calm ocean surges up or when an octopus caught at the beach is slaughtered with bare hands. But in the conversations, the self-descriptions of the military men and women, everything revolves around the reality they grew up in: the brief moment that determines which side you’re on, the constant game of hide-and-seek, kin liability, the cruel consequences of wrong decisions. In her first feature-length documentary film, which is carried by the tension between the visible and the invisible, Mariana Flores Villalba wisely chose not to show the event but its effect.

The Mexican island of Capaluco was once home to a flourishing holiday resort. Now it is deserted. The tides are chipping away at the ruins of the amusement park and hotel complex. Sensory explorations of the terrain meet tales of a mythical sea monster from the Philippines that ended up here. Beguiling science fiction in the mirror of post-humanist theory.

“Welcome to Capaluco, the only all-inclusive island in the world! A place where fun is guaranteed for the whole family,” echoes from the loudspeakers. Gaudy dolphin sculptures stare into space. A crumbling Nestlé emblem reminds us of the glory days of an out-of-date civilization. Miko Revereza and Carolina Fusilier stage their location as an in-between place where the past reverberates and the future pushes its way in. In the meticulous observation of formations and textures, architecture and nature begin to converge. Is that still the droning of a radio mast or is it the ocean? The two directors speculate from offscreen who will be next to make use of the relics of the human empire in the relay race of the species.