In heated, often hostile debates about homosexuality, trans and sex work, a young Armenian family tries to assert some kind of queer normality for themselves and others.
Carabina, a gay artist, transvestite, and ex-sex worker, is married to Hasmik, a heterosexual lawyer. They have just become parents and are facing a dilemma: Should they raise their child in Armenia, where 93% of the population is against homosexuality?
A box of film material from Tito-era Yugoslavia becomes a narrative engine. With dry wit and philosophical verve, this essay burrows through family and contemporary history.
The sixties and the seventies of the 20th century in our former country, a country that ceased to be. A young family moves from a rural environment to a small Slovenian town, where factories are being built and the need for a workforce is increasing. The brothers are growing up in that shaky but magical in-between, soaked in the everyday rhythms of the community, infused with the ideology of the time. Then, it happens: the sudden spectrum of film; the mystique of time itself.
Deserters is a film about a generation of Bosnian youth from the city of Mostar swept by the devastating war at the brink of their maturity and the tough decision to escape from it.
Deserters is a film about a generation of Bosnian youth from the city of Mostar swept by the devastating war at the brink of their maturity and the tough decision to escape from it. Their exile stories from the 90s, contained in letters mailed to the director of this film from refugee camps scattered across Europe, are confronted with the present condition of the city they were forced to leave. A film about a missing generation, exile, hard choices, and the answer to the most difficult question of any war: to stay or to run?
Srećko, Mirza and Mejra are survivors of the 1995 Srebrenica massacre. Their fates are revealed in the contrast between innocent everyday moments today and archive images from that period.
Nahid is 15 years old and fleeing the Taliban with her family. Stranded in a Bosnian border town, she meets Ferida, an elderly bosnian woman struggling with her own war trauma.
August 2021. The world watches as the Taliban come back to power in Afghanistan. Hundreds of thousands of people flee. Many of them end up trapped in the non-EU state of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Like Nahid, a 15-year-old girl who is stranded in this nowhere place after a nerve-wracking flight from Herat. The voice messages from home increasingly sound like a distant echo. But there is no time for nostalgia in this daily life between illegality and pushbacks. There is just one goal: get her family away from this ramshackle camp. Luckily, there are people like Ferida and the shady but good-hearted coffee shop owner Elvir in town.
Ferida lives right at the border and as she watches people return humiliated from their attempts to cross the border, memories of her own past slowly come back to her.
While Ferida loses herself in reminiscence, Nahid discovers that the cycle of war and loss connects her to the place more than she expected.
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow is a deeply personal film about what it means to look at and document, and the unforeseen consequences of a well-meant, but unprepared intervention.
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow starts where most films about homeless kids end – the day after they are taken in. We assume it's a happy ending but what really happens next? This film tackles the emotional and ethical challenges that arise when a determined, idealistic and thoroughly unprepared American cinematographer decides to support three Mongolian orphans. Told over the span of six years, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow is a deeply personal film and an honest portrait of how storytellers and their characters impact each other. The filmmaker and central character, Martina, grapples with what it means to intervene in a meaningful way. Ultimately, she has to ask herself who is helping whom.
The film addresses the messiness of love and belonging and the universal experience of parent-child relationships – while at the same time, Martina questions the power imbalance and accountability that arise when we look at and document.
A filmmaker goes on a journey of a lifetime: after receiving his grandfather's WWII diary, he decides to follow in the footsteps of the Soviet army and discover today's reality.
An extraordinary document leads Hakob Melkonyan to undertake the journey of a lifetime: after receiving his grandfather's WWII diary, the Armenian filmmaker decides to follow in the footsteps of the Soviet army and discover today's reality in those territories. The War Diary is a road movie through four countries: Armenia, Georgia, Russia, and Ukraine. It confronts the history of the Second World War with today's reality in these former Soviet republics. Having become independent after the fall of the USSR, they are now torn apart by numerous deadly conflicts in Armenia, Georgia, and Ukraine.
The War Diary is a very personal quest but also sheds light on the geopolitical context of these countries that once fought side by side. Today, however, with the invasion of Ukraine, it has become an essential project.
DOK Industry is realised with the support of Creative Europe MEDIA Programme of the European Union, the Mitteldeutsche Medienförderung (MDM) and the Federal Government Commissioner for Culture and the Media upon a Decision of the German Bundestag.