The well-known illustrator Werner Klemke uses his drawings to teach the youngest bookworms about the value of reading. Taking this as a starting point, Lotte Thiel presents the GDR as a land of books whose capital is Leipzig. Figures and images from the 1971 International Book Art Exhibition underscore the significance accorded to books as a tool for shaping the “socialist personality”.

Commissioned by the German Book Traders’ Association, Lotte Thiel follows the preparations for the 1971 International Book Art Exhibition, prominently supported on screen and on the soundtrack. The tradition of this fair is recalled, from its predecessor BUGRA 1914 to the first IBA in 1927 and the subsequent events that took place every five to six years starting in 1959. Award-winning illustrations can be viewed in detail.

A tinted nitrate fragment of the company film “A. Gutberlet & Co., Leipzig-Mölkau, Spezialfabrik für Falzmaschinen und Faden-Buchheftmaschinen, gegründet 1901“ (specialist in the manufacture of folding machines and thread book stitching machines, established 1901) was an exceptional find. It could be restored in its original colour tones by analogue methods in 2024 and then digitised. Combined with the dupe negative of another version, it now offers insights into the factory halls and the work on the machines.

In the evening of 9 February 2022, four young men sit around a table in Kyiv. The friends are discussing the situation: 120,000 Russian soldiers are stationed right at the Ukrainian border. What is going to happen? In “The Birds Are Silent”, director and cinematographer Leo Dzhyshyashvili captures an equally private and historical moment. What is striking is the clarity with which Andriy, Olexandr, Ivan and Sasha assess the consequences of the imminent attack: Potential decisions about their own future are mixed with concerns about relatives and the bewilderment at being thrown into a situation that provokes both helplessness and disgust. But there is a glimmer of hope – perhaps the imagined horror scenarios are nothing but a waste of energy? Cut. Some of the debaters have become soldiers; one has barricaded himself in the bathroom with a narrow mattress and a meal. Within eight minutes, Dzhyshyashvili has tied together a before and after that make you shudder.

What happens in a person permanently trapped in the destructive loneliness of constant self-comparison? How does a person who fools others with neoliberal dreams just so they do not have to give up their own feel? This bittersweet, cheerfully tense musical by Niki Lindroth von Bahr pulls us into the masked nervousness of modern society with humour, singing and dancing.

In 1974, the Maternity Center, located in a low-income Chicago neighbourhood, is acutely threatened by lack of financing from its funding body, North Western University. Resistance begins to form in the predominantly Black community, since this is an institution with a 75-year-old history that has provided countless woman with safe and affordable home-births. “The Chicago Maternity Center Story” uses this civil protest as a starting point to tell the story of the rampant commercialisation of medical care in the USA, including its sexist and racist connotations. A film that approaches the issue sometimes gently, sometimes with agitprop vigour.

Can a geometric structure be seductive? The answer of this spare and yet utterly charming film is clear: Yes, it can! A simple white line on a black background bewitches us with its dynamic curves as we marvel, open-mouthed, at its suppleness and excellent timing. This line is a saucy star that would be a credit to every burlesque show.

Step into 9-year-old Juniper’s world as she navigates complicated memories and guilt related to Magnolia, a woman who comes to work for the family. In misleadingly delicate animation and tone, “The Dollhouse” positions home as the workshop where unjust power dynamics are formed. The story unfolds in all directions, at times offering specific interactions.

The digital shapes growing into the sky in this video artwork are reminiscent of Chinese ink landscapes. They strive upwards, like the sound which seems to pull them up by invisible threads. Everything is steeped in acetic colours that lift the landscape out of the human realm. A journey to a strange and yet familiar world.

This rhythm-driven animation is inspired by the 4th movement of the “Sonades de la calor del foc,” the “Sonatas of the Heat of the Fire”, created in 1984 by Catalan composer Josep Maria Mestres Quadreny. It passes through four poeticised spaces: The first is dominated by coloured blocs, the second by gravity, the third by silence, and the fourth takes us back to vibrant life at last.

“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.

A cinematic daydream in corrugated cardboard and paint, shot with a Super8 camera. The soundscape consists of hills, some easily climbed, others requiring the last ounce of strength. The shapes, colouring, cross-fades and rhythms of this encounter with paper also shift between tough and tender and are made tangible both on the visual and the tonal level.

Grandfather’s hands making pottery, the vertical linearity of a tower, a train crashing into a car – all of these are fragile, newly born film sketches that crowd each other out in a survival game for the filmmaker’s attention. The sceneries fight against each other, intertwine to form new strands, sink into an endless flood of information, shatter in a sea of open browser tabs. With his authentic voice-over and a mesmerising collection of moving images, director Konstantin von Sichart’s alter ego offers us a deep insight into his creative process. Marked by his neurodivergence, he learns before our eyes to cope with his inability to concentrate on one thing – and to weave meaning from these strands, remain true to his film idea. But how can this ever result in a film?
Toxically coloured images, naively drawn and finely crafted, AI-generated, filmed from a monitor, collaged, worked-on – a wealth of tools and aesthetic approaches translates the described mental overload into the language of design. The film thus becomes more than a self-reflection of modern filmmaking: It is the portrait of a new generation – caught between the compulsion to take everything in and have a position on everything and the urge to stand still or even run away.

In her second feature-length film, Lee Anne Schmitt leaves California behind to explore the disparate influences that have shaped life in Utah’s Henry Mountains, home to one of the country’s last remaining bison herds, which are hunted to this day. Hewing closer to pure observation than much of the rest of her work, Schmitt and her roving camera stick tightly to the everyday rhythms of the contemporary cowboys who organise these now touristic hunts. The images of buffalos being shot at close range, disembowelled or stuffed speak for themselves, as do the endless landscapes, stubborn iconography of the former Wild West and the story of the Native American dream recounted in voice-over: the impossible return to a land never again empty.

“It’s nice here, let’s play,” says Fakhri, holding a small loudspeaker for Fadil, the violinist. But there is no audience. The two men are standing in the ruins of Mosul. Three years of occupation by the Islamic State terrorist militia have left the old town almost completely destroyed. Along with the buildings, the 8,000-year history and culture of the second-largest Iraqi city seemed to have been wiped out forever. Life returns slowly. Art treasures are being restored, there are theatres, music again, and Fakhri’s small private museum where he collects anything he can lay his hands on: wooden doors, bronze figures, soap from1910, a ventilator. He has already amassed 7,000 exhibits and is especially fond of an ancient portal with two lions. Damaged, but perhaps still salvageable, it sits enthroned in the ruins of Bashar’s parents’ house like a peace time relic. Bashar visits it almost daily, hoping that reconstruction is possible. But Fakhri turns out to drive a hard bargain – he wants this portal at all costs …
With a steady hand, Kurdish-Norwegian director Zaradasht Ahmed tells a deeply human story, intertwining the darkest and lightest side of the species: the mania of destruction and the strength to go on.

The figures in this experimental short film for cinema greenhorns seem to be spinning on a turntable. Houses, plants, birds, and a face pass before our eyes. To a lively tune, blossoms unfold, eggs and chicks fly, the sun goes up and down, until everything starts all over again. A small, tongue-in-cheek story that also tells of the early days of animation.