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.

The Baía de Guanabara is not just any bay: the metropolitan area of Rio de Janeiro has sprawled around it. Its waste water threatens the rich ecosystem, planes roar along the approach corridors above. These filmic explorations on the margins of the megacity portray various environments that are all connected to the bay in a specific way. The people here are micro-wage earners making a modest living.

At night the lights of the city and the promises of capitalism shine in the distance. To the people living at the periphery, they seem out of reach. In eight chapters this documentary essay meditates on their habitats along the bay, following the repetitive and physically exhausting activities of humans and farm animals. Unusual perspectives, careful camera work and a poignant sound design elevate these observations to a commentary on the crisis in Brazil. Murilo Salles, who won a Silver Dove in Leipzig in 1978 for his debut “These Are the Weapons”, sheds light on the close link between geographical space and social inequality.

A fairly shabby, dark, three-part wardrobe in a hallway: About ten years have passed since Joana Claude suffered sexual violence when it was assembled. Now the time has come to not only disassemble it. Instead, Joana sets out to destroy the artefact of pain completely. The gesture is made with fervour, tearing out the shelves and doors looks like retroactive resistance, what was pent up finds an outlet. At the same time, the ritual is characterised by gradual escalation: At first the director speaks of her relationship with her parents – a big sweat stain on her back already beginning to show –, in the end everything is in flames. The act is short, it lasts only a few minutes. And yet it allows an intimate insight that acquires a universal, strength-giving character as it unfolds.

A granddaughter visits her grandmother in her house in the country, her grandmother is close to 100. We never see the granddaughter, as she is the one behind the camera, and we only see the grandmother fleetingly, moving through the shadowy interiors, gathering herbs from the vegetable patch to make tea, watching a mantis perch on her hand. But this is as much a portrait of her as it is of the space she inhabits, although we never see the whole of that either, just carefully selected fragments in compositions that play with focus and shade: knick-knacks and trinkets, photographs, textures, glimpses of sky through the window, ants, butterfly wings, resting pigeons, a wasp nestled in her palm, the fur of the last remaining dog.
Sounds ebb and flow through this hushed bestiary of the everyday, the voice of the grandmother talking in voice-over of family, spirits and canine reincarnation, the noises of the places in the photos, the television blaring in the background, the different layers of rippling silence that reassert themselves when everything else goes quiet. How do you capture a whole life in just 20 minutes? By listening to its echoes in space.

A music-filled journey towards self-acceptance. In this VR experience we meet Mr. Saul, an aging man who works in a brothel and is hiding a big secret. Through Samba, carnival and a touch of kindness, he learns to embrace himself. “Finally Me” was delicately animated by Marcio Sal, who also contributed his own voice and movement to bring Mr. Saul to life.

Osario and Benedito, two brothers, lead a quiet and isolated life. Gravity doesn’t seem to exist in their cosmos. Objects float around – no up, no down, no points of orientation. The two have never known anything else than this floating in space. We float along and are irritated: is all this lightness just an illusion?

The global COVID-19 pandemic has changed human relationships. Archive material, 360° footage and artificially generated images are used to create a synaesthetic essay film about loneliness, insecurity and the increasing shift of our everyday life into the digital realm. Dystopic and anonymous stories merge in a collage of the disturbing social and political phenomena of our time.

The dew drips promisingly from the leaves. Ayla wakes up in a beautifully flowering, lush landscape. A new mountain range arises in the distance. The summits: a smiling woman’s head. Ayla sets out towards it. The hills are the supportive nipples, the downy hair on the forearms is the grass she tenderly strokes with her fingers. When she sees a small dense forest on the horizon, she knows where she must go to find the ultimate fulfilment.
Luma Flôres shows Ayla’s self-exploration as an exquisite sensual and tender journey in intense colours. The discovery of her own body and lust are intertwined with the discovery of another, also female body. The intense sensuality remains metaphorical but vivid to the end – for example, when Ayla discovers her lover’s lap as a natural fountain in which she first dips her fingers and then her whole head and body. When the two are at last united in the water and sleep with each other, the animation changes from concrete representation to abstraction – which in turn bursts in the sky like fireworks. Flôres resolves her metaphorical dance only in the final moments of the film: The two women kiss, drift on the water. The fine art of love, but also the simplest, most natural thing in the world.

In 2018, thousands of people from Latin America set out together, fleeing from a lack of perspective, poverty and violence to the U.S. Among them Lilian, a single mother from Guatemala, who found the courage to leave her violent husband. The caravan was her only chance to achieve this act of strength. Nevertheless: 4,000 kilometres with four small children, walking, hitchhiking and travelling north on “La Bestia”, the freight train, are still extremely perilous.

The film contrasts the media coverage with a sensitive view that deliberately focuses on one family. It registers inconceivable hardships, but also great helpfulness, Lilian’s power of endurance and her ability to make the exertions seem like an adventure trip for her children – at least occasionally. Despite this lightness, though, the struggle remains as present as the fact that the US is simultaneously building a wall to prevent anyone from crossing the border. When Lilian and her children reach the border after weeks of fear, she breaks down. Suddenly the question arises whether her goal is really this rich country. Isn’t it rather about finally standing up to male dominance and traditional gender roles? It’s very obvious that one thing remained on Lilian’s arduous way: Fear has yielded to a new self-confidence.

One film, two women, three rules: a one-year video correspondence, every three weeks and modelled on experimental female film artists. The two friends Fernanda Pessoa and Chica Barbosa begin their dialogue between São Paulo and Los Angeles in the upheavals of 2020 – in the midst of pandemics, election campaigns and anti-racist protests. In thoughtful, sometimes playful visual essays they also search for feminist cinematographic forms for the female body.

Marie Menken, Yvonne Rainer, Chick Strand, Cheryl Dunye and Ximena Cuevas are only some of the renowned experimental film inspirations for “Swing and Sway”. Sixteen references are listed in the opening credits and the stylistic variety is proportionately wide: black and white and colour, analogue and digital images, text inserts and voiceovers, CGI and stop motion, dissolves, overexposures, colour effects. In this cinephile potpourri, orientation is provided by clips of political events. “I left Brazil under Bolsonaro to come to Trump’s United States”, Barbosa reflects on her status as an immigrant denied political participation. Meanwhile, Pessoa becomes an activist during the São Paulo municipal elections and asks herself a question that other left movements will also ask looking back on 2020: “We didn’t win – but we moved forward?”

The activist in her awakened at an early age. Even as an adolescent, Juma Xipaia felt that she would dedicate herself to her Indigenous people’s fight for the right to exist in the Brazilian Amazon region. For the Amazon is their mother, the knowledge, and the cure. More than ten years later, Juma knows what it really means to be an activist. As the first female chief of the Middle Xingu region, she has survived assassination attempts, experienced state violence against protesters, must discover illegal prospectors who are clearing the forests and poisoning the soil and the rivers. But the 34-year-old also sees hope emerge for the Indigenous people of Brazil, because the 2023 change of government gave them their own Ministry for the first time. Juma becomes an undersecretary of state and has her second child: Yanuni.
The Austrian Richard Ladkani portrays Juma Xipaia and her husband Hugo, a special investigator working for the environmental authorities, after they let him accompany their daily life for several years. Ladkani mixes fascinating landscape shots with the explosive power of “embedded journalism”, using the full potential of the big screen in one moment and intensifying intimate moment in the next. The result is private and personal, poetic and political. Above all, the film transports Juma Xipaia’s message that despite every disappointment, responsibility for one’s life should not be placed in the hands of others but kept close to home.