During a ramble through the forest we see video colour fringes break through the shadows of the canopy. Rolls of thunder and birdsong spread as a deep red pixel moss carpet. Ambient sounds creep up from the distance to filter the visual world. Hallucinogenic data errors drag like scrapers across a discarded layer of paint. The forest becomes a cathedral for the eyes and ears.

A city crossing: Many things happen, one after the other, at the same time and sometimes inexplicable. Even in animated images reduced almost to symbols there is a lot to discover at this place. A speaker describes what is happening in words for people with visual impairments, but she increasingly questions the meaningfulness and translatability of what she sees.

An infrared dot pattern scans body shapes to supply system information for fascinating volume images. The space casts are virtual sculptures, mouldable, with unstable aggregate states. DJ Dixon’s “Transmoderna” performance is pulverized to the beats of Mëhill’s track “Through Withdrawals”: waves of millions of luminescent coloured microbodies against a black infinity.

Sometimes it really takes only two minutes to see through life. In her minimalist animated film, Anne Isensee comes quickly and straightforwardly to the point. What the direct line sketches out as a concept of life looks alluring, too. It is a good thing that there are one or two kinks after all. Nonchalant, witty and profound – and awarded the Golden Dove at DOK Leipzig in 2017.

A colourful luminous river flows through the black void. Geometrical surfaces dance in small repeating loops around wondrous organic plants. The abstract lines, rectangles and semicircles briefly form animated figures. Tina Turner’s classic in the musical interpretation of Miles Davis and the animated visual world of Irina Rubina and Michelle Brand.

Ginkgo trees are separated by sex; only the female trees bear fruit. Once highly esteemed as natural sources of health, city dwellers today object to their pungent smell and, as gardeners, prefer the less complicated, more fragrant “fruitless” male plants. Tang Han explains with infographics, apt short sound comments and sympathetic objectivity.

Hands grasp emptiness. Sometimes they get hold of bundles of lines. Their everyday movements are turned into a ghostlike play of gestures, because the objects they handle and the devices they operate are erased from the frames. The sense of touch takes centre stage – in the actions themselves, but no less in the scratches on the material which dance to creaky, grating sounds.

A virtual tour of a computer-generated desert landscape and a story of failure: In 1998, the “Oasis”, Palestine’s first casino, opened. The peace-making idea associated with this development project lost out against political reality. Game over – the oasis becomes a multifaceted fata morgana of interviews with employees, operators and guests.

An investigative examination of the colour spaces of the 100 Yuan note reveals a paradigm shift. Officially declared by the central bank to be red, the note bearing the portrait of Mao is, physically speaking, actually pink. This has consequences for China’s political narrative, as Tang Han’s uncompromisingly precise and refreshingly clever cinematic experimental setup illustrates.

Our hovering gaze circles a free-standing rock on a wide plain. The recording gets stuck. At ever shorter intervals the massive rock formation breaks out of the solidifying background until data smears and artefacts accumulate as fine digital sediment layers and congeal into new formations. The video signal interference acts like a primal force of geological history.

Abstract organic drawings, wandering flocks of clouds and the surging sea give the “Impromptu opus 70” piano piece a visual body which refuses to take on a fixed form or pause. “Remous” embraces the undulations of Jacques Hétu’s erratic composition, twists perspectives and makes individual notes shimmer as brief reflections of light on the surfaces of deep darkness.

Nothing is closer to us than our skin. Its beautiful and less beautiful parts envelop the self, separate it from all else. A foray along naked parts of the body takes us from a shiny ridge via a rounded protuberance to a shady gorge. A neck. A belly…ear. A fellybear? Photos, videoclips and sounds form an irritating body collage.

A giant ginger mountain landscape that five cooks spent a week to make: Once magnificent culinary works of art were created in Chinese restaurants. Food was associated with a wealth of money and time. The world today is short-lived, customers have become few and far between. Chefs talk about the connection between food culture and socio-economic change in China.

A voice from nowhere proclaims life instructions: “Take a deep breath, say YEEES! … and stop being boring!” But rules and authority gradually elude the anonymous instructor. He becomes a chattering, contradictory flâneur through the universe of his problem-fraught private affairs. Those therapy units have a really sneaky design.

Waiting people in the noise of the city. They begin to move, passing each other. Their portraits overlap, their bodies briefly collapse and for a fleeting moment form abstract time-space shapes. From the repetition and multiplication of the encounters emerges a daily accidental choreography of lifelines in urban space: delicate, intransparent and widely ramified.

What happens in a person permanently trapped in the destructive loneliness of constant self-comparison? How does a person who fools others with neoliberal dreams just so they do not have to give up their own feel? This bittersweet, cheerfully tense musical by Niki Lindroth von Bahr pulls us into the masked nervousness of modern society with humour, singing and dancing.