A folk tale from the Urals: on the eve of the wedding old Mother Nyurka heats up the sauna. A steam bath is obligatory and it’s a matter of honour for the respective household spirit to give the whole wedding company their long overdue thrashing. After the wild chase, Nyurka calms the goblin, feeds him and wishes the bridal couple a happy future.

A collage in black and white, positive and negative, with dancing lyrics, skipping thoughts and ambling sounds. Inspired by the media theorist Friedrich Kittler, this experimental homage celebrates three poets and their passion for sound recording devices: Thomas Pynchon (thought recorder), William S. Burroughs (tape recorder) and Rainer Maria Rilke (phonograph).

A distant idyll featuring well-behaved children at play: a prettily illustrated and well-labelled world. An unsuspecting rabbit scampers there which may be cute but can also be tortured and slaughtered. And when a goblin who can turn insects into flashing diamonds springs from the dead body, one would have to be a stupid child indeed not to smell a business opportunity. Good children! Bad children!

Nine-year-old Abuk and 15-year-old Machiek have survived an ordeal. Like many Southern Sudanese children, they were robbed and enslaved by militias. In 2003, after their liberation, they visited Sweden to talk about their experiences. The authentic sound recording expands into animated space and supplies the voiceover for images of fear and memories in children’s colours.

Overpaintings and scratchings in scenes from the Russian science fiction film “Silver Heads” by Yevgeniy Yufit. Considering that this work is already an outrageous deconstruction of the old Soviet pathos of the inevitable victory of scientific and technical progress, “Stakes” must be regarded as its drug-fuelled exaggeration into the unsurpassable.

An ingeniously sketched chamber play about the nerve-racking hour before dinner: mother peels vegetables while father is trying to convince their little daughter to take a bath. The protagonists are pretty caricatures of their respective natures, even more so of the roles imposed upon them. An ordinary family – bound together for little good and much evil.

Oh, if only the cat could get up the enthusiasm to do what’s natural for her species, namely, to catch mice! But this cat is good for nothing, just lies around languidly, too lazy to even lift a paw. The clever mouse invests more energy. It’s true she doesn’t show herself, but she manages to make everything revolve around her, even to make human and cat leave the house …

These fucking doubts! And isn’t a 100-kilo massif of a man who recites tender poetry on stage a contradiction in terms anyway? He almost fell silent. But then he defeated the booming silence and made his own fears the subject of his slam poetry performances. One small step for mankind, one big leap for a shy giant.

Emanations of a nightmare. Drawings of fragile girls’ bodies from which the silhouettes of massive men emerge devouring each other. Obsessive images from the inner perspective of a nude dancer during her performance. Shreds of acoustic memories of sexual abuse. And always recurring: the rapist in a hat, the forever unerasable unreal reality.

The day is dwindling, and the world is exhausted. The hour of the great sandman has come. He enchants his clients with grains of slumber while busy helpers fluff up pillows so that everyone who is sleepy may lie softly. At some point, almost everybody is likely to sense that there are more things between night and day than are dreamt of in our philosophy.

An uncle you’re never sure you would like to have yourself but for whom you still shed hot tears when he will have died in the end. The essential material of this touching story – apart from the clay the figures are made of – is empathy. This melancholy farewell to a cranky old geezer deals with a small subject. But it’s about everything.

Once upon a time there was a young Moroccan man who had a dream, a big dream. And he wanted it to come true, so he thought, somewhere beyond the great sea, perhaps in Estonia. Meanwhile, beyond the sea, perhaps in Estonia, a decadent wedding was being celebrated at the Villa Antropoff. The guests look like Mafia and money-laundering.