8,500 kilometres lie between the Amazon and the Ardennes. In his home country of Brazil, Diego Quinderé de Carvalho only looks at the inaccessible and menacing forest from the outside. Its Belgian counter piece, however, is easy to explore. Here, everything is laid out by people, neatly ordered and reduced to the essentials. A geologist, a gold miner and an astronomer provide insights for a philosophical exploration of the origin of existence and the future of our planet.

It is Alice’s 27th birthday today. She lives in her old room in her parents’ apartment. Her mother coddles her like a little child. Her kid brother gets on her nerves. The only space for self-realisation and living out her sexual desires is in her imagination, if at all. For economic reasons, she and many other young people are denied the chance to live an independent life in their own four walls. So Alice has to endure the confinement.

On the night of her birthday, she goes pub-crawling with a buddy and dances, free at last for a few moments, at a party on the roof of a high-rise. Looking at the nocturnal city and sobering up after all the exuberance, though, her dilemma re-surfaces again: Where is her private space where body and soul can unfold unobserved? Haunting, colourful, with a fantastic soundtrack and full of eroticism, the film describes the depressing situation of a whole generation.

“Are you with us or against us?” Nothing less lies in the air, unspoken. No nuances, no discussions, hardly any choice. Did the tired man expect such life decisions after work? Unlikely. He just wanted to chill out and watch mindless television when suddenly an alien world on the screen catches up with him in the comfort of his home: A cult-like community lives next door, their behaviour ape-like, their faith fanatical, determined to convert him. Their flat is decorated with forests and deserts. Anyone who tries to look behind the painted wallpaper, to separate scenery from reality, commits treason and deserves banishment or death. Plato’s Cave Analogy in a radicalised version for the 21st century.
Freedom and truth or stability and a sense of belonging? Is the price of accepting a distorted reality just to be allowed to live too high? And most of all: Is there an alternative worth living? The world outside, behind the window, remains vague, its threats only implied. In this parable about passivity, curiosity and free choice, Alexandre Sousa touches on the urgent questions of our time: questions of isolation, echo chambers and the impossibility for humans to stay unpolitical. Do we even have a chance to resist?

An execution illustrated from the point of view of the condemned man, with a musical reference to the song “The Unknown Soldier” by The Doors. Ferenc Rófusz’s film may not have been a direct statement about the roughly 200 death sentences issued against all manner of opponents of the regime in Hungary after the uprising, but its poignancy speaks for itself.

While studying in Belgium, Daryna Mamaisur witnesses Russia’s attack on her home country Ukraine from a distance. It is getting warmer, the chestnut trees are already in bloom, here in Brussels as well as there in Kyiv. Because she cannot find the words, she makes a film that records this spring – in the distance and nearby. She starts a visual correspondence with Tanya in Kyiv who would rather talk about an argument with her partner or the singing of the birds than the droning of the bombs.
The filmmaker, too, is searching for a way of speaking commensurate with her helplessness and shock. She takes voice lessons and interweaves the shots of recital and vocal exercises with the observations she exchanges with her friend. She directs our attention to the fragility of everyday life – and the experience of war that weighs down even the most relaxed, banal moments.

Empty and dense. Organic and geometrical. Mirrored and asymmetrical. These are only some of the parameters playfully transformed into an abstract cinematic study by Réka Bucsi: a doubting line from which a second and a third consisting of sculptures looped around themselves soon spring. Bucsi continues her exploration: Which movements are reminiscent of legs, which of wings? Or is all this just a figment of our imagination?

A meteorite covered in green growth lands on a planet inhabited by strange creatures and sparks light, colour, fertility, and intimacy. Plants begin to glow, animals find mates or become one in different ways. A tale in three chapters about longing, love and solitude, unfolding in wondrously surreal snapshots.

A feeling of fear spreads: In an apartment building, the stairs follow no logic, men get lost with a wardrobe, everyone is lonely. The surreal threat suddenly becomes real when security agents ring the doorbell: “Csengőfrász”, the symbol for the arbitrary arrest of citizens allegedly hostile to the state from the time of the Hungarian Uprising.

Sexual hallucinations of an abandoned man in which literally everything turns into a questionable object of throbbing lust. The hell of jealousy mingles with the bonfire of vanities and pink longing fades into purple desire: lecherous bodies. Pounding pain. Panting music. Phallus seeks vagina. Eternal, restless, greedy.

The biggest gold deposit in Europe is located underneath Roșia Montană, Romania. The ancient Romans dug shafts with hammers and chisels, later gunpowder and dynamite were used to mine the precious metal. But when the possibilities of traditional mining methods seem exhausted in the early 2000s, a Canadian company enters the scene, planning to pulverise the whole village and the four neighbouring mountains – and to use highly toxic hydrocyanic acid to extract the gold from the rock. Tibor Kocsis observes over several years how the corporation is trying to drive out the inhabitants of the village, and how a resistance is forming that lasts until today.

Cutout animation in limbo: crafted meticulously and in great detail, but at the same time as if dabbed from the unconscious. In Csanád Baksa-Soós’s work, butterflies land on ladies’ shoes and fly away with them, a river of headlines flows through a city, a violet, swirling solar eclipse makes glowing knives shoot out of the earth to the sky, stone lips disgorge a ball of light. The images do not follow a fixed order – each of them opens a new world, takes a deep breath, moves on. Leitmotifs appear and disappear. What’s left are enchanting colours and textures which extend even to the soundtrack: The scratching of a maltreated cello, nocturnal saxophone sounds from the barely soundproofed neighbouring flat, eery clarinet etudes in an echoing rehearsal room nestle congenially against the images.

The dazzling sun hangs in the sky, but while it slowly sinks, a cacophony of unknown voices and sounds spreads across the horizon. “The darkness is coming like a smoke that expands,” the director comments in voice-over, and takes us deeper into the night, on the path risked by many migrants from Central America: on foot, through dangerous landscapes, with an uncertain outcome.
In her immersive short film, Violeta Mora brings this path to life. A shaky handheld camera follows heavy footsteps, we hear the fugitives’ breath and the sounds of animals. The flash-streaked blackness is full of scraps of desperate conversations and calls for help, while the sense of threat keeps mounting. A film that does not seek to explain but allows us to feel tangibly and directly what it means to cross a border – in hopes of a better life.

It’s Hungary in the early 1990s and Ákos, Petya and Laci, too, are young and need the money. The Iron Curtain has fallen, Europe lies at the friends’ feet, but train tickets to Stockholm, Paris, Berlin or Madrid are almost unaffordable for ordinary people. Far from losing courage, the three develop a clever method to enjoy the new freedom to travel: They forge the official tickets, still handwritten on carbon copy forms, bleaching the carbon ink out with sanitiser, ironing the paper smooth and dry, getting some stamps, researching the operating procedures of the national railway, studying timetables, prices and routes and filling in the boxes on the forms again. And off they go. But that is not the end of the story. A feeling of blind infatuation sets a business idea in motion. How about making these very special tickets available to others in need? One becomes ten, 150 soon become 1,000 – until a cat-and-mouse game with the authorities begins.
László Csáki’s scintillating gangster comedy is loaded with contemporary history. His excellent montage of drawn fiction, authentic film documents and memoirs broadens our view of the suspended years of social upheaval in his Hungarian homeland.

The film opens with the obvious: The problem of the AI’s lack of physicality – it cannot play ping pong with director Tianji Yu. But would it be conceivable for Yu to arrange to play ping pong with a former friend and playmate who now votes for Trump? Do his political otherness and physical absence make this friend as immaterial as the AI? Is this absence insurmountable – both the AI’s and the friend’s?
A ping pong conversation evolves during which the director’s deep memories and honest reflections turn the superficial and banal AI into an actual surrogate partner. A partner that enables a slow rapprochement to the lost friendship and triggers reflections about humans as political beings. The artificiality of the AI is unpeeled layer by layer. Yu visually stimulates us to penetrate to the core of things through the poetically captivating layers of the visual design as we start with documentary footage alienated by a distorting mirror and transition to a moving painting of simple, semi-realistic 3D animations that unfold as if behind a brushstroke filter.

Learning a foreign language is like creating another self. How can you speak it without losing your own sound, without dissolving completely in it – and still be heard and noticed? This film is a charming and intellectually fastidious attempt to navigate the complexities of language, identity and trauma.

To do this, the filmmaker resorts to her own biography. Because Russia invaded Ukraine when Daryna Mamaisur, who comes from Kyiv, was in Portugal for a Doc Nomads graduate course. Home and the search for it became the defining factors of this work, as well as the traumatic situation of only being able to “witness” the difficult situation from a distance. She, the Ukrainian in Portugal, learns Portuguese. She lets the new words for “war,” “explosion” and “attack” roll off her tongue. She compares them with the soft, intimate sound of her native language, with the sound of Kyiv. Friends send audio and visual recordings from Ukraine which, combined with animations, become a multilayered essay and finally a testimony – for the resilience of language and culture, no matter where they are spoken and lived, and not least for the power of the artistic documentary, which can make speech and sound possible.

47 animated sketches of a surreal world: a fur collar made of a living wolf; a sawn-off tree that soars to the sky like a balloon; a cat that grows by purring and finally begins to stroke her owner. Réka Bucsi weaves an unpredictable web of fantasies that question human relationships with nature, animals and the cosmos and reduce them to absurdity.