“Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. And so are films.” This statement, which opens “Addicted to Solitude”, indicates its direction: there is none.
A film about water. Beauty, power and threat mingle in the images of Victor Kossakovsky’s latest film.
The crumbling balconies of Havana as the inhabitants’ faithful friends and centres of social life. Hawkers, gossip, neighbourly help and magic.
The last preparations for the season at a small hotel on the North Sea coast. Managed by an elderly lady and maintained by her only employee, who’s not quite so young either, this house is stuck in some early 1960s style.
To lead or to be lead? To dominate or to be dominated? A soldier and an activist are dancing a slow tango together.
The teenagers Yegor and Mie are on their way to the international elite of Latin-American dancing. Glamour – and homesickness, sweat, pain, deprivations. What’s your dream worth to you?
A visit to a ghost town that’s anything but deserted: old timers, tuners and adventure tourists form an unusual community that keeps the town alive.
A woman and an egg, together, in a room. Both are naked, crouching opposite each other, lurking. Should she eat it? And what happens then? She fears the worst: loss of form.
25 years ago a woman was wrongfully imprisoned. In her recurring dreams, re-enacted for the film, she meets three people: her mother, a friend and a stranger.
Eleven-year-old Erdenchimeg already has a stressful day. In addition to doing housework to help her mother she also attends a Mongolian school of acrobatics.
Solomon and Berta are two seekers who arrive – their treasured bathtub improbably in tow – in a land that promises respite from their many journeys. ...
12-year-old Daniar lives in the middle of the vast expanses of Kyrgyzstan. For the first time, his father gives him the big task of breaking in a horse.
Once the most fashionable spot in the heart of Hollywood, in 1980 the Montecito Hotel on Franklin Avenue is only a shadow of its former heyday. The stars have moved on to fancier palaces.
At one point in this essay about documentary staging someone says: “You move into a film like you move into a house.” Whether you feel comfortable there, however, depends on many small, sometimes unnoticeable things.
