Between coming and going time feels leaden – a half-life in the light and dark contrasts of a linocut. The narrating voice’s mother cares for seniors in their homes for five euros an hour. At their bedsides the ticking clock counts down the working day, caught between the frightening sounds of the heavy breathing that comes with impending death and the roar of promises made by television. The dying are mother’s livelihood.

Long walks through almost deserted cityscapes which even in the late 1970s still bear the distinct scars of the Second World War: a Belgian filmmaker encounters West Berlin. She tries to re-adjust in this terrain saturated with European history and films this transformation in the first person singular. The images of twilight captured on grainy 16mm footage make Berlin look like a city that lies deep in the East, even though it sees itself as a Western city. But Annik Leroy mistrusts the mirror images: they don’t help if you want to see things more clearly.

Bertha loves to draw. She needs help in her daily life for she has a rare disease that impairs her vision. But Bertha refuses to be discouraged. She has organised an exhibition together with a well-known painter. The proceeds will go to research into her disease, the so-called Wolfram syndrome. Can Bertha tame the wild wolves in her life?

Against the backdrop of Saint Petersburg’s back courtyards during the Corona lockdown, Tatyana Chistova fuses recordings of the almost empty city and calls to a municipal hotline tasked with offering help and advice, but topics range from the banal to existential questions. Elderly people in particular are affected by poverty, hunger and loneliness. Chistova highlights that in a system that neglects its weakest members, the virus is not the only threat.

At American high schools, the threat of school shootings has become omnipresent. In addition to regular drills of how to act in case of assault, security forces and metal detectors are now part of everyday life in the schools. In the name of security, a whole industry is busy developing bulletproof hoodies and blackboards, arming teachers and installing ever more surveillance devices. Is this prevention? Or a self-fulfilling prophecy?

While cheerleaders rehearse, basketball teams play and homecoming queens are crowned, adults in the background prepare for the emergency: What to do if a school is attacked – from inside or outside? Behaviour and meditation training to prevent violence in the first place are one thing. More money, however, is spent on armament. The so-called security industry has long entered the school market. Todd Chandler’s restrained observation takes a look at the arms and service industries and the media, at social psychologists as well as teachers. He cleverly focuses not on individual schools and incidents but rather on how a whole system responds to a threat.

Eating dirt and burping with relish – an earthworm refuses to be satisfied with this embarrassing evolutionary outcome for his species and sets out to learn better things. But imitating many-legged and winged insects does not result in distinguished behaviour but rather leads to mortal danger. Ethan Barrett demonstrates magnificently that clay is the pinnacle of the evolutionary pyramid of animation, especially when it is set to such a light and poignant score.

A genius of independent cinema looks back on his hitherto unrecognized work. From now on he will leave this unprofitable art well alone, be part of the big business, sell himself and be bought. A brilliant future seems within reach. A torrent of buzzwords from the beginner’s guide to self-marketing. Burning ambition. Caustic sarcasm. Biting irony.

The Huerta Valenciana is a unique cultural landscape of fields and plantations. For generations this region, mainly planted with perennially rotating crops of tigernuts, artichokes and onions, was regarded as the vegetable garden of Spain. “Camagroga” is a filmic elegy about peasant pride and how it is inscribed in the physiognomies, gestures and postures of the people behind these agricultural products.

Tardor, as autumn is called in the Valencian regional language, is the season when the tigernut straw is burned on the fields to make the winter harvest of the nut-sized bulbs easier. Antonio Ramon and his daughter Inma run a farm of just under four hectares north of Valencia – hardly a profitable size nowadays. And yet they apply a surfeit of care and traditional knowledge to their products, seemingly following the impulses of their vegetative nerve system rather than a deliberate programme. Ever since their fields were also identified as prime real estate in the development plan of the expanding provincial capital, however, they have known that the battle zone has already reached their barn door.

Two different planets: men and women. What used to be one in paradise was divided by original sin. Ever since then, the sexes have been facing each other in conflict, all the while consumed with longing for a reunion. Expectations are high, the excitement is immense, the imagination is boundless. A day in the garden of carnal delights – from ecstasy to exhaustion and back.

It could be called a portrait or a composition with text and sound. Ulrike Meinhof’s “Letter from a prisoner in the isolation wing”, written in prison in 1972/73, a document of detention in thought cascades, lends structure and weight to fifteen minutes of film. The apparently black background is dimly animated at intervals, hinting at a nocturnal outside or an area near water. This attempt to communicate the sensory deprivation resulting from isolation attempts what’s actually impossible, pushing towards abstraction, harsh, brutal, dry. Any narrative “grease” is discarded. There is no space at all, hence not for a narrative, either.

There are children, too, among the Palestinian insurgents. For some time now, the Israeli side has observed minors who take an active part in an Intifada, especially with knives. They are harshly dealt with: prison, hardly any judiciary support. Ada Ushpiz, filmmaker and journalist, comes surprisingly close to some of the Palestinian families concerned. She has accompanied the dubious insurgents over several years and witnessed terrible pressure.

Freshly released from prison, 12-year-old Dima encounters a crowd of television people. A few months ago, she was caught with a knife. The attack was said to be aimed at Jewish Israelis. Now, in a frenzy of camera flashes, her mother stands close by her side. But instead of offering protection she assumes the role of an agitator, demanding that her daughter report how she was treated by the Israelis. But Dima remains silent. Her family describes the pubescent girl as mentally handicapped. Dareen is younger than Dima and lives with her brothers, father and a few snakes in the immediate vicinity of their Israeli neighbours. Soldiers stalk the house, sometimes stones fly, Shin Bet, Israel’s domestic intelligence service, is allegedly involved. In her astonishing film, Ushpiz shows a life in constant tension. Her approach is unapologetic and familiar.

Who hasn’t?! You arrive in a foreign land, ready to embrace the world, but the world refuses to be embraced. Tomoko from Japan travels to London. She is well-prepared, works hard on a language course and has brought her goldfish to fight homesickness. And yet she feels lonely and unable to utter a word when spoken to. What to do? How about a slight change of perspective?

Painting, virtual sculptures, technophile hybrids of reality and illusion – Aaron Jablonski has been creating mobile face filters for social media channels since 2018. Sometimes they form a confusing swarm of echoes around a head, sometimes they come as spiky digital punk. His immaterial masks, hovering between fashion and art, conceal as much as they reveal about their wearers.

In 2015 a fire breaks out in the Bucharest club “Colectiv”: 27 dead, 180 injured. But for the survivors of the disaster, the hospitals become death traps, as many die of wounds that are not considered life-threatening. A doctor turns to the press. The research uncovers one of the biggest scandals in Romania’s health care system. This powerful film offers insights into the work of the investigative journalists, lets whistle-blowers speak and gives the survivors a voice.

The vultures are circling over the Cevennes, the south-eastern part of the French Massif Central. They are part of the holistic cycle of becoming and passing away which shepherdess Nathalie seeks to come closer to. Because the vultures are gnawing at the remains of her beloved animals. She considers herself responsible not only for their lives, but also for their death. Elsa Maury’s film is an unequivocal testimony to what it means to wield the fatal knife oneself.

The sounds made by a ewe when a lamb is born seem almost human. And when a little later the newborn turns out to be unwilling to live it seems as if one could detect pain in the mother’s eyes. The shepherdess Nathalie’s empathic look at her flock was transferred directly to the viewer. Each animal here has its own name, each has a biography that Nathalie knows by heart. And it’s ultimately up to her to finally decide when the end of a sheep is near. In diary-like sequences we learn about her feelings, take part in a difficult process of development which results in new self-confidence, perhaps even new wisdom. Elsa Maury shows a perennial school of killing and death. She leaves the events uncommented, but achieves an intensity through images and editing that stays with us for a long time.

Kwinten is proud of his Dad who is the commander of a naval ship. But a new mission takes his Dad to sea again for three months. Kwinten waits for postcards and counts the days. His best friend now lives in another town, but fortunately comes to visit. Coping with missing his father isn’t easy for Kwinten. Seeing him again is all the more wonderful, though.