A gaudily coloured twisty slide takes us into emotional shallows. A squeaky voice complains about its inadequacies. It belongs to an animated figure which serves as a catch bowl for a soul that’s not doing well. Its creator has pieced it together, but something holistic does not pop out of the demiurgic mush. Tulapop Saenjaroen uncovers the beginnings of Thai animation and takes a critical look at the future promise of media placebos.

The opening scene shows the anger: It’s about rape. The observing documentary by Aïssata Ouarma is more composed, though, focused on dealing with the trauma and the attempts to come to terms with it through art. The heavily pregnant Mariam attends a theatre education workshop. The camera follows her and her empathetic trainer in moments of mental and physical exertion designed to free her soul – and that of her unborn child – for good.

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”.

In 1923, the Dutch erected a radio station on Puntang Mountain on Java deploying indigenous forced labourers. 2,000 metres of wire between two mountain ridges were meant to transmit news from what was then the Dutch East Indies across the 12,000 kilometres to Europe. A speculative and poetic examination of the remains of Radio Malabar – in the earth, in the mountain, in dreams of geoengineering, in local history.

With reference to Władysław Starewicz’s animation film experiments with insects, the Chilean artist duo León and Cociña develop a fictitious counter-narrative to the history of the stop motion technique – and a vision of a Chile liberated from autocrats. A pigtailed girl in puppet form confidently handles the remains of the authoritarian power tradition, in the shape of morbidly staged body parts of two symbolic representatives of the oligarchy and Pinochet’s dictatorship – Diego Portales and Jaime Guzmán.

Photographs are dusted, records cleaned, insects removed from books and everything is digitized for eternity. The matter-of-fact shots of fastidious archival work, though, are combined with the voice of a young woman who reports on the collapse of civilization, the fragile artefacts of which she secures as the last human being left in the “Congress”. In the field of tension between image and sound a space for our imagination opens up.

A stuttering boy transforms an Iranian kitchen into a fantastic cosmos. The father’s body becomes a refrigerator, the mother's belly a washing machine whose spin cycle gives birth to a screaming baby. Even birds on tiles and detergents have a surprising life of their own. This exuberant animation, dotted with real-life elements – fried eggs, broken plates, chess pieces – develops a subtle wit, ironizing ingrained family patterns.

In her light-footed film miniature, Zaina Bseiso links the disappearance of the last orange grove from the suburbs of Los Angeles with the fate of the Jaffa orange, a native fruit of Palestine. When she engages her father in a conversation regarding this content and artistic concept, it turns into a discussion about how a good documentary can approach reality and why – with all due respect for realism – we must never underestimate the power of illusion.