Director Nora Rosenthal brings a very specific focus to this portrait of her parents, Heidi and Alan: She shows them dancing. But these are far from “easy dances.” Rosenthal realises quickly that her own inflated expectations threaten to make her ambitious project fail. She hires two professional dancers – mirror images and, as it were, interaction partners for Heidi and Alan – to spread the enormous pressure on robust shoulders and with whom they can waltz or even do a disco number.
Abstractly playful, yet empathetic, “Nine Easy Dances” addresses heavyweight subjects like transience and illness, opens the door to the family archive and tries to tell a story whose end already hangs in the air. A multilayered endeavour, associative, free and intelligent.

Gruesome grimaces, craftsmen at work, running animals, wild fountains of colours – the “not yet films” from the prehistory of cinema were only sixteen animation images long, but they left people amazed and satisfied the sensation-seekers. Parisian artist Dominique Willoughby has retrieved some 19th century wonder discs from the archives and re-animated them in a variety of ways to minimalist music.

Hands grasp emptiness. Sometimes they get hold of bundles of lines. Their everyday movements are turned into a ghostlike play of gestures, because the objects they handle and the devices they operate are erased from the frames. The sense of touch takes centre stage – in the actions themselves, but no less in the scratches on the material which dance to creaky, grating sounds.

This film can go on forever. Or at least until we shut it off. A collaboration between a filmmaker, an artist and a machine, this generative film spans the length of the festival. Based on the visual archive and music of Brian Eno, as well as new interviews, this meditative audiovisual experience is created in real time through the imagination of a machine.

Fly through an abstract world, drawn in by digital ink. Inspired by Taoist philosophy and the writings of Zhuang Zhou, this interactive experience allows the visitor to fly, swim and soar as something other – and maybe more – than human. The game is controlled by moving on a custom-built balance ball controller, which heightens the corporeal experience.

The ghost of a former lover lives under Olivia’s bed. Barbara invents fantastic stories to cope with Mauricio’s rejection. Mauricio sinks into the ground with remorse. Ramón develops a deep affection for a talking houseplant that bears Olivia’s features.
This film approaches its thematic core in circles as we are invited to ponder the complexity of human relationships from different perspectives. The twists of glances and emotions of the characters entangled in this round dance are not only reflected in the episodic, cleverly intertwined dramaturgy, but also in the visual design. “Olivia & the Clouds” explores a rich garden of artistic techniques. Figures and places we first encounter as drawings go through transformations and reappear as cardboard collages, watercolours or oil paintings. A multilayered narrative of attraction and revulsion unfolds, revealing new facets of form and content with every change of style. Music light as clouds, brilliant sound design, vibrant colours and not least the occasional digressions towards experimental film enchant us and carry us deep into this surreal story that couldn’t be closer to life.

A tired sun creeps across the horizon for the last time. A cold wind is already blowing over the lake. The migrant birds depart for warmer climes and leave the Nordic natural paradise. Heavy snow showers cover the land with a white coat. The animals condemned to stay – fragile creatures of delicate porcelain – cling to branches, looking for shelter. None of them will escape the frosty grip of the spreading winter. They are observed by a tiny girl, also made of wafer-thin, translucent white ceramics, who is the only one left in the freezing landscape in the end.
Anu-Laura Tuttelberg’s symbolic story is touchingly beautiful and at the same time full of inspiring irritations, because she makes her art run up against the reality of nature. She did not animate her puppets in a warm studio but exposed them to the elements, on location in northern Estonia and an island in the Norwegian Sea. In her film, cruel forces, disturbing fragility and the renewing force of the cold meet – ambivalently and elegantly.

Young people roaming through thickets, bathing under birches in clear lake water, dewdrops glistening in the sunlight, animals scurrying, flying and crawling through the undergrowth. What at first looks like a modern fairy tale film soon lands rather rudely in today’s reality. Finland, the most densely forested European country with its boreal vegetation acts, together with Sweden, as the green lungs of the continent. There is a scientific consensus that preserving forests is one of the most effective measures to counteract climate change and halt the massive extinction of species. Despite this immensely important task, around ninety percent of Finland’s forests are currently threatened by deforestation, partly for the paper industry.
Her love of trees and her equally great anger at their destruction suddenly puts 22-year-old Ida at the forefront of a new environmental movement. Together with many like-minded people she takes on the giants of the Finnish forest industry. At the same time, she realises that her family, too, share the deeply rooted conviction that the forest is “cropland” meant to ensure Finland’s prosperity. One thing is certain: The committed young activists must fight a tough battle against economic interests, the political system and the prejudices of generations.

There is something very subtle about the moment when children become adults that it can hardly be put into words. In fact, hidden, almost imperceptible changes suddenly appear that act like tectonic shifts in the human psyche. In her documentary debut, Marie-Magdalena Kochová has managed to capture this subtle move. She documents the life of 18-year-old Johana, who lives with her parents and her younger sister in a small town in the Czech Republic.
The sister has autism. Her health condition is severe and unpredictable. Her hysterical fits and aggressive outbursts dictate the life of the whole family. All the schedules are synchronised so that someone is always with the youngest. The well-practised routine is threatened when Johana decides to apply for a study programme in psychology at the university after her school exams. This means that she will soon have to move to another city, leaving the entire burden on the parents. Kochová shows us a transitional period in anticipation of massive changes, which requires everyone involved to have firm confidence in their own decisions. The mental tension is palpable, but the camera maintains an equalising distance. Step by step, the beauty of a challenged life unfolds, where courage becomes the only measure.

Oto lives a quiet life on his planet until one day a spaceship crashes down. Out comes Exo, who claims half the planet as his own. A lighthearted story painted with dark humor, “Oto’s Planet” mirrors our own planet. As the story unfolds, the viewer can spin and rotate the planet to see it from all different perspectives. Oto’s planet is in your hands.

Pregnancy, birthing and parental care are strongly charged social roles. The partly absurd public discourse about them – reinforced by hyper-positive media images and stereotypes – makes natural concerns feel less and less natural. Evolutionary necessities have been turned into ciphers whose collective emotional over-forming leaves next to no space for personal experience. In this phase of life, self-awareness and external perception often diverge substantially. There is usually little room, neither for fears and doubts nor for any other emotion, outside the generally prescribed bliss. Prenatal stages of development seem pre-defined, standardised, tried and tested. Little can be done “right”, much “wrong”. Every decision for or against a pre-natal optimisation measure counts. Nothing is left to chance.
But what if chance strikes anyway? When the ultrasound diagnosis yields a painful result? How does obstetrics, obsessed with detail, handle deviations from “the plan”, how does it deal with the fact that statistically one in six pregnancies ends in miscarriage? Filmmaker and editor Irem Schwarz’s found footage collage is a haunting combination of terribly omnipresent cliché imagery that addresses these relevant questions in a voice that is more than just her own.