In 1965, the longest farm workers’ strike in US-American history unrolled in Delano, California. Led by Cesar Chavez, the as yet unorganised Mexican seasonal labourers fought successfully for better working conditions and the right to found a union of their own, the National Farm Workers Association (NFWA). “¡Huelga!” is the partisan portrait of an emerging solidarity group that not only stood up against the unregulated capitalism in the agricultural sector but also declared war on the racism of the white landowners. In addition to depicting the mechanisms of the strike, the mobile camera also makes a point of documenting the degrading living conditions of the people who kept one of the most powerful industries in the country going.

A delicate white ray approaches the frame of a dark picture, bounces off and changes direction. The ray begins to ramify into a geometrical shape. Various algorithms became the co-authors of this generative work that explores the physical laws of reflection. The code-generated soundtrack reacts in real time to the gradually transforming sequences of figures.

Journalism in the U.S. is in crisis. Jestin Coler, also known as the “fake news king”, most likely contributed to this when headlines from his satirical web page were picked up and believed by the mainstream. Coler describes fake news as a gateway drug and, ironically, as an antidote at the same time. In her film, director Laura Gamse scrolls through news and memes and thereby impressively comments on the state of Western societies.

In the direct animation style of Len Lye or Stan Brakhage, the dynamic images of this energetic music video groove to the sound of Four Tet. Elements of jazz, punk and techno seem to be discernible, but the idiosyncratic audio is as elusive as the visual events. Everything dashes away at breakneck speed. A bracing sprint for the eyes and ears.

Birdsong and meandering lines, sometimes solo, sometimes as a swarm movement. In their midst a park landscape, a staircase, and a man with a dog seem to emerge fleetingly. In Robert Breer’s minimalist drawn animation, the abstract and the figurative briefly overlap, then fall apart again. The permanent change of the forms follows the pulse rate of the birdsong recorded in nature.

When the Russian invasion began on 24 February 2022, Artem Ryzhykov volunteered to join the Ukrainian army. Equipped with a machine gun and a camera, the filmmaker documents his life as a soldier. But soon it becomes obvious that imagination and reality are drifting apart. While at first exploding bombs shock him so much that he drops to the ground in the barricaded kitchen, and while burnt corpses of a defeated Russian military unit at the Irpin front line provide sensational images, euphoria and sensitivity gradually get lost on the battlefield. Ryzhykov slowly loses his observer’s perspective, the camera degenerates into a “toy” and is replaced by the weapon.
The war leaves traumatic marks. Ryzhykov is increasingly alienated from his own self and his private environment. The overwhelming emotional ballast is no longer easily catalysed, spaces for reflection shrink and the phone calls with his wife Irusya become colder and more tight-lipped. Co-director Juan Camilo Cruz has crafted a narrative strand of immediate power from more than one thousand hours of video material: an intimate insight into the life of a person who is trying to cope with all the chaos.

“Shall we submit or shall we say to them: First kill me before you take possession of my fatherland.” “A Song for Dead Warriors” opens with these words by Sioux chief Sitting Bull from 1877 – a programmatic choice, because the film revolves around a current event which shows that even a hundred years later the conflict between the US administration and the Native Americans is far from resolved. On the contrary: In 1973, there was a clash between the police and a militant group of Sioux who occupied the Wounded Knee Memorial together with the American Indian Movement (AIM). The case is to be investigated by a hearing of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, but the fronts are hardened. AIM activist Russell Means is the spokesman of the defiant group and protagonist of this film.

Mount Sinai Hospital in New York is one of the largest and oldest hospitals in the United States. Mati, an aspiring hospital chaplain, works here. She is about to complete her one-year residency in the department of “Spiritual Care,” a branch of palliative medicine. Patients struggling with insecurity, trauma and grief get emotional and spiritual support here. The film follows Mati and her colleagues through 2020 and 2021, the years with the highest number of deaths in the history of the USA. Mati herself must struggle daily to find her balance. Because, as her supervisor puts it, if one’s own bandwidth is used up, there is simply no room left for the tougher things. It is therefore an important part of the work of a counsellor to get support and guidance for oneself.

Luke Lorentzen observes this cosmos with great sensitivity and, despite being so close, with pleasant restraint. The calm camera often keeps its distance, especially in moments of doubt or when observing conflicts in the team. A film unafraid of intimacy that spans a thought-provoking arc: between questions of faith, loss and professional sustainability.

Hand-coloured and from the mind of one of the 20th century’s most innovative abstract filmmakers, “Abstronic” combines abstraction and electronics to produce a playful flow of images reminiscent of an abstract painting in motion. Mary Ellen Bute, who was also a painter, created the film using electronic images generated by a specially designed oscilloscope in combination with traditional animation.

This compilation of four films demonstrates the capabilities of the ANIMAC analogue computer, the predecessor to the later Scanimate video synthesizer, which would kickstart a new era in motion graphics during the 1970s. The ANIMAC’s jaunty and fluid forms, created using manually controlled cathode rays which drew on screen in real time, give an early example of electronically designed and animated characters.

Sorensen, DeWitt and Winkler were a dream team of artist engineers, a talented trio whose fluency in new media and technology won them numerous awards and accolades. Their skills in video synthesis and processing are deeply visible in this dreamy, psychedelic drift through synthesised New Age landscapes made of vapourwave colours and swirling, fractal-like shapes.

Using original sound and war images, this film documents the rise of the anti-war movement within the US military. Soldiers talk about their growing anger. We see them being drilled and indoctrinated – with the consequence that the atrocities they were later responsible for during the Vietnam War were justified by military obedience. The sometimes brutal montages show that both the Vietnamese people and the American soldiers were victims of a ruthless military machine whose true profiteers, the film argues, are the arms industry and military administration. It closes with an appeal of a member of the National Guard on domestic duty to his fellow soldiers to fraternise with the protesters they are meant to keep down.

In the mythology of the Kikuyu community the Mugumo, the Kenyan fig tree, represents transformation and rebirth. This multiplayer VR experience invites us to witness a sacred ritual: Dancing around the Mugumo can turn a man into a woman and a woman into a man. We follow Waicici, a genderless person, in the quest for the most honest version of themselves.

Winter on Canada’s Pacific coast – a difficult season for the animal keepers at the wildlife rescue centre in Comox, British Columbia: It is hunting season. Despite massive criticism by animal welfare organisations, hunters continue to use lead ammunition. This is particularly life-threatening for the BAEA – the official Alpha 4 code used in North and Central America for the bald eagle. Because these birds of prey feed on animal carcasses left behind. Their chances of surviving lead poisoning are slim. The treatment, too, is extremely stressful for the eagles. With great patience and loving care, the keepers try to save their charges from death.
In gentle images and with respect for the suffering birds, filmmaker Terra Long observes daily life at the station, contrasting it with shots of nature – only seemingly – untouched by humans. Ultimately, this refuge raises fundamental ethnic questions: How can precisely those humans care for wild animals while preserving their dignity and wildness? And: Is the elaborate treatment any use in view of the meagre chances of a change in hunting laws?

One of the first productions of San Francisco Newsreel, a local offshoot of the nationwide network of Newsreel collectives, demonstrated solidarity with the Black Panther Party against the ghettoization of Black Communities in the cities and against police violence. “Off the Pig! – Death to the cops!” is the battle-call of the militarily organised protesters in the streets of Los Angeles. They demand the release of imprisoned Black Panther founding member Huey Newton. The latter speaks at length in a prison interview, as do his co-fighters Eldridge Cleaver and Bobby Seale. What they say and read out is aimed at nothing less than a revolution, a violent overthrow that is to liberate the Black US population from white supremacy.

In 1885, two boys came across a large collection of Chumash Indian religious artefacts in a cave in California’s San Martin Mountains. Later named Bowers Cave, it is now located on a landfill site. Lee Lynch and Lee Anne Schmitt’s graceful, protean short braids together a panoply of different texts and images to unearth the different layers to this all-too American story and allow its wider implications to resonate: photos of museum exhibits given their Chumashan names in voice-over, historical quotes that move across views of contemporary industrial activity, Indigenous figures rendered as bright plastic toys, the mouth of the cave and the markings carved into its walls.