In keeping with the inscrutability of their existence, a very special logic seems to be needed to decode symbols from the depths of our soul. Švankmajer uses a kind of home-made dream machine to confront the protagonist with the personal myths that he has carried around subconsciously throughout his life and that even as an adult make him suffer like a helpless kid.
A boy, a girl, a bird with a swan’s neck nestling in hands, a gently wooded peninsula of longing: Atsushi Wada’s almost speechless animation, mapped out in uniform and unicoloured chains of motifs and events, follows the dream and shame logic of a sexual awakening. There’s a sadness about the rounded and infantile figures, perhaps that of a first “little death”.
The figure of the singer Björk seamlessly transforms into petals, into underwater creatures with delicate tentacles and other fantastic organic manifestations impossible to classify. Accompanying Tobias Gremmler’s graceful computer animation, Björk’s singing wipes the slate clean: tabula rasa, a free, unencumbered space for later-born children to blossom and make their own mistakes.
Small and cu… No, not cute. This knee-high creature seems shy and in need of love instead. Until it comes snarling round the corner, chasing you on its short legs through the empty suburb. An uncomfortable lurking feeling spreads. With sparse drawing, mean sound bites and not-so-friendly characters, Malte Stein lays out the surgical instruments for a head game.
Sigmund Freud’s dream symbolism relates birth to water that one – or so he says – either dives into or rises out of. While an adolescent boy gets mysterious phone calls and shyly follows his clique to a shits and giggles party, his mother floods the ever-sparser home with separation anxiety and absurd scenes, mocked by the pompously wall paper pattern with all its curlicues.
Stunning panoramic shots of natural landscapes are cut through by swathes of traffic. People appear like little dots in the depths and at the periphery. Only gradually do we realise that they are fleeing. Great dramas grow out of this micro world, the colossal landscape becomes increasingly merciless and begins to resemble an infinite space of fear.
The mocking transvestite, the raging dog, the prophetic clown and the little girl are united inside the desperate protagonist. The longing to break free rises forcefully – like a pistol pressed against his chest. In humorous metaphors, Hakhyun Kim takes a crisis of disorientation to extremes, while his extraordinary stylistics lend it poetic dignity.
A ghostly voice sings about transience while the camera glides past closed curtains, capturing the expressive, lived-in face of a dozing Val Kilmer. Rick Alverson’s disconcerting stroboscopic video editing makes the dozing body twitch. The inner turmoil of a troubled soul and restless memories rise to the surface.
A purely acoustic collage whose sounds seem by nature indefinable and yet somehow organic. They mesmerise us, occasionally make us shiver at some unknown thing. Gravity seems to be suspended. This piece needs no images, because they will intuitively materialise before our inner eye like thousands of hallucinations.
A harrowing scenario of bullying based on a short story by Charles Bukowski, whose language is translated authentically into a rough comic book style. A children’s gang teach the neighbour’s boy a lesson. It’s their duty, the self-styled righteous ones tell themselves. What starts out like a game in a framework of dominance and banal irrationality escalates into murderous group dynamics.
A nervously vibrating camera, a rubber duck being beheaded by algebra. In only one minute and with a vengeance, David Lynch lights a beacon against the school-inculcated view of the world. Reading, wRiting, aRithmetic – the three basic cultural techniques “drilled” into us turn out to be childhood traumas and opponents of the immeasurable, the mysterious and the indescribable.
She opens her arms wide: “I want to go home, do my dreaming.” Crossing from an unbearable reality to the world of magic sometimes takes only the snap of a finger, sometimes several press-ups. Gudrun Krebitz’s poetic combination of video and animation recommends pushing the gravestone aside and descending into one’s subconscious.
A girl affected by ostracism angrily creates a little demon that is to follow her forever from now on, comforting her in moments of disappointment, but also keeping her locked in her loneliness. In Budanova’s beautiful animation, mental pain takes the shape of an identity figure that seems impossible to get rid of.
