The herb dispute, in this case about ’Akkoub (gundelia) and Za’atar (wild thyme) is one of the more bizarre aspects of the Middle East conflict. These plants are much sought-after ingredients of Palestinian cuisine and have been collected for generations; for reasons of nature conservation, however, this is forbidden in the West Bank. Israeli park rangers thus find themselves in hot pursuit of their collectors for a fistful of greens. Jumana Manna humorously presents the poaching as civil disobedience.

The Berlin-based Palestinian artist combines documentary and scripted material with pop references. Once, when archival footage illustrates the hype surrounding the illegal herbs, we hear Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” and Morricone’s harmonica melody from “For a Few Dollars More”. The ban also has an economic side, since Israeli companies are selling Za’atar as a spice mix. Drone and panoramic shots suggest the absurd manhunt for elderly people picking for their own needs. One of them says: “I’ll also be caught in 2050 with my children and grandchildren.” Manna wrote the court hearings based on real cases with lawyer Rabea Eghbarieh. Not mentioned in the film is the political success the attorney of the Adalah NGO contributed to in 2019: According to the new directive of the Ministry of the Environment five kilogrammes of the plants may be picked.

Is that a belly or a cell that is in visible turmoil? In any case, in Angel Wu’s film the capitalist hamster wheel is a living organism – though it is not quite clear whether we live in it or it in us. When a young factory worker makes a wooden fetish, prays to it, and then eats it, he is physically and visibly consumed with ambition and work mania. Without further ado, the people around the fire turn into a column of factory workers with a number-crunching management, the free-roaming zebra is put into a cage that is quickly shipped off as a container. But Wu does not just stage this development as a simple series of recognisable capitalism markers but also retains the cryptic, haptic quality of her magnificent mixed media reflection on the content level.
Is the fetish an anvil that symbolises human malleability? Does the worker long for something else? Are the delicately drawn insights into the interior of the machine visions of hell or simply an Anthropocene in its final stage? Based on the physical formula “work equals force times distance,” Wu not only combines 2D animation, photography, collage, and drawing – as well as Taiwanese music featuring some unsavoury retching. Rather, she condenses reflections on working life in (Asian) societies and our imprisonment within it.

Michelle, 86 years old, is an equally obstinate and touching widow and filmmaker Amélie Cabocel’s grandmother. Michelle lives alone in a big house in a lonely area of Lorraine and is probably completely unaware that with every fibre of her existence she bears witness to a vanishing age. But when Amélie tries to persuade her to take part in a photographic and exhibition project, she resolutely makes it her own.

Michelle spends her leisurely days reading the obituaries in the local weekly regularly and with great concentration, making long phone calls to the few surviving “cousins” and leafing patiently through the carefully guarded photo albums in which her memories are preserved. Beyond her private life, these albums and folders are also an eloquent fund of an everyday culture about to disappear. When Michelle’s granddaughter wants to produce a film and an exhibition based on this material, the old lady catches the bug and, with her headstrong personality, adds fuel to an already challenging enterprise. “Forgotten Lands” is the moving portrait of a grandmother from the familiar perspective of her granddaughter, but also an intelligent reflection on the unique ability of photography to record echoes of a life lived.

Is it not unlimited freedom, the most radical form of self-realisation, to exist in every conceivable setting as a flying mythical creature, a sad mouse or a furry figure with an extended naked spine as a tail? In her film, Monika Masłoń moves through different spaces as an avatar, exploring the subject of touching and being touched on VR platforms. Anything our phantasy can imagine can be created from pixels here. The limits of existence can be extended infinitely by a click. But what about human – or avatarian – closeness? Can an emotional signal like shaking hands be simulated in this VR world, despite the complete absence of physical bodies? When I see my avatar being touched, can my body memory suggest that I feel this tactile event even though there is no other physical body?
Masłoń examines these questions with a delicate sense of humour and in exchanges with other avatars. But then we enter a VR space that feels more intimate: She has taken us on a personal date. How does the impossibility of physical touch in a long-distance relationship differ from that in VR? Can a VR date create more physical presence and still the longing for the beloved person better than other forms of communication?

In the 1960s, the Soviet cinematographer Leonid Burlaka worked on films that went around the world for the Odesskaya kinostudiya in his native city of Odesa in the former Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. Today he is eighty years old and diagnosed with Alzheimer’s; his memory is visibly fading. Filmmaker Igor Ivanko follows the traces left by his grandfather and discovers an archive of immense value in the garage.

Dozens of rolls of photo film, albeit almost decayed, are found between gardening and other tools. The grandson scans the material and shows it to his grandparents. Burlaka’s face brightens when he recognises familiar faces, but he can’t remember much. Ivanko realises that he has a treasure of historical dimensions in his hands. Leonid Burlaka began his career when many Soviet creative artists were struggling with censorship. When state repression eased in the mid-1960s, he had long established himself in his profession. The political change, however, was reflected in his works. Ivanko’s attempt to record his grandfather’s memories before they disappear forever comes too late. But he succeeds at making a film that looks back on fifty years of cinema and life in the USSR: a stirring portrait of the times and the family between emotion and information.

In the midst of the Moroccan desert, characterised by rocks, scrubs and immeasurable expanse, two men are looking for celestial bodies. Pacing out this weathered ground is a downright gargantuan task. Both have great hopes tied to the meteorite fragments: While one of them is looking for knowledge, the other longs for a better life. Adnane Baraka’s impressive directing debut traces existential questions in powerful images.

The barren landscapes of south-eastern Morocco are known for frequent meteorite impacts. Mohamed, a nomad who lives with his family in a tent in the desert, decides to start searching. Like the other men who scour the terrain with him he hopes to find a valuable rock from space that would mean his escape from poverty. On the other side of the country, scientist Abderrahmane analyses meteorites for enclaves of long-dead celestial bodies. To reach the origin of our life, we have to look at the stars.

A couple of filmmakers – she produces, he directs – are trying hard to assemble the autobiography of the woman, Caroline. A long time ago the man, Frank, won an Oscar for the adaptation of his own life on film. Now he just wants to help Caroline a little, but of course have a say in things, too. Caroline isn’t exactly enthusiastic.

Franzy is an extraterrestrial cook who lives alone and also feels a little lonely. She loves to season her dishes with a special pink ingredient that makes everything taste extra delicious. But when the spice tin is empty, Franzy must go in search of new supplies. She reaches a planet full of hungry creatures delighted with her culinary skills.

Len Lye’s uncompromising and poetic reduction of movement to its absolute essence. Flashing dots, squiggles and lines scratched directly on the black leader, sometimes as compressed or stretched zigzags, sometimes as straight or feathered verticals. They start running, then dancing, creating in the dark void a space and energy field to the rhythm of percussive African tribal music.

A thrilling short film by renowned Latvian animation artist and children’s book illustrator Edmunds Jansons. Winter sports enthusiasts in red and blue ski suits race down the slopes. Everything from queuing up at the ski lifts to wild downhill races happens to the rapid beat of an electronic music composition. All the pleasure of skiing, drawn cheerfully and with subtle deeper meanings.

In 1980, Wolfgang E. Struck, artistic director of the Berlin Friedrichstadt-Palast, wistfully considers the imminent demolition of his house due to structural deficiencies. Employees rhapsodise about working at this historical stage, where international stars like Louis Armstrong and Juliette Gréco performed. Nearby, construction of the new Friedrichstadt-Palast is starting.

With darkness comes fear, and with fear the light disappears. During a dive together, sunken memories rise in “him”. And just like the process of sedimentation, when the lake “rots”, the open water becomes a swamp. Growing anxiety accelerates the breath to the rhythm of the increasingly intense lyrical language. Meanwhile the power of the vortices and expressive Swiss-German tone serve to tint and shape this captivatingly graphical sand animation.

In mathematics, a function describes the relationship between two sets that assigns to each element of one set exactly one element of the other. The term function in general defines the purpose for which something exists. This film is a rhythmic examination of abstract organic and inorganic processes, embodied by oscillating shapes in intense colours.

Biology lesson. On one side the teacher in the light of the entomology projection, on the other the classroom in semi-darkness. Attention is slackening. Adolescent daydreaming: The boy at the desk in front is actually quite cute. The fingers want to run off. Still, rather touch only oneself at first. But then there is a spark …

Having a crush, what a beautiful and intense, but equally fleeting and sobering moment. Eyes, nose, ear, mouth and hands go on their first physical explorations, breathtaking, deviant or repulsive. Zhen Li observes with microscopic precision and magnificently captures this exceptional state of mind with different animation techniques. Charcoal drawings with smeared marks, furry waves of mould, intricately animated bodies and buzzing, sticky sounds circumscribe the sensual surge.

Words of the poet Mahmoud Darwish open this film: “I do not hate people, I do not assault anyone, but if I get hungry, I eat the flesh of my usurper. Beware, beware of my hunger, and of my anger.” This is followed by the title, then the subtitle: “An Israeli reports.” Her name is Edna Politi; she was born in Lebanon, emigrated to Israel and was accepted into the German Film and Television Academy in West Berlin in 1971. Politi’s student film is explanatory: Where does the Palestinian rage, the desperation come from? Soberly and carefully, she compiles everyday observations, facts and figures to draw attention to the mechanisms of the economic and political disenfranchisement of the Palestinian people. Her aim is to convince, not persuade.

Winter is coming and it gets cold on Lena’s farm. The squirrel pinches something warm from all corners to pad its drey until it is nice and cosy. Rain floods all the meadows and the mice flee from the forest: “Squeak, squeak, where are we to go?” The squirrel quickly recognises the danger and shares its cosy loot with them. A new episode in the KiKA series.