“Trees are life itself”, renowned botanist Stefano Mancuso says, leading a band of kids through what was once a densely wooded area. This becomes the setting for Victor Kossakovsky and Mancuso’s cinematically sprawling journey across Europe, even reaching Vatican City, following the fates of trees. In the Dolomites, trees stand like ghosts after the Storm Vaia devastated the forests. They became more vulnerable due to a planted monoculture of economically valuable fir trees. More damage then followed after the storm, as weakened and fallen trees became breeding ground for bark beetles. What do trees think or feel? Delving into their depths, the camera captures life that’s still sprouting and persisting. However, as winter matures, trees might not make it through the festivities. Chainsaws work tirelessly at fir-tree farms. Like strange cocoons, they are now packed in nets and bundled tightly, waiting for their send-off to homes and public squares. But people’s affection for them might be short-lived.

Sevara Pan

They develop software, work as lifestyle coaches, own marketing agencies or an Amazon shop, travel around the world without paying for accommodation: digital nomads for whom a laptop on a suitcase is sometimes enough of a workplace. Some of their aspirations fall by the wayside in the process and become the project of an enterprising Munich-based developer: Mathias is courting rootless individualists and clever investors to become backers of a project that is to turn a deserted former luxury hotel in the Bulgarian mountains into a hip coworking space. He promises a sense of community, intense human connections and few taxes, an outdoor pool and a campfire idyll. While the nomads who dream of home are waiting for the utopia to become reality, the residents of the surrounding villages sense a new “Wind of Change” with some scepticism. A brilliant structural analysis of a business model that capitalises on modern longings and knows how to carve out the necessary space.

Jan Künemund

Martin doesn’t dream of a life full of riches. His greatest wish is a 1994 Honda Civic and a driver’s license. He joined his foster family at five months old. At nine, he received a diagnosis of autism, ADHD, and so-called attachment disorder. Then he met Casper, and the two formed a bond born out of their shared love for cars, Trabant jokes, and an understanding of each other’s struggles, shaped by their disabilities and early days spent in an orphanage that affected their self-esteem. Lensed by his brother, director Emil Langballe, with honesty and care, the film follows Martin as he is caught in a spiral of drug addiction and troubles. All the while, he and Casper continue patching up their Honda Civic. A film about ruptures and repairs, of cars and relationships, support systems, and the tenderness of friendship.

Sevara Pan

At a vocational college for the hotel industry, Alma, Moussa, Chaïli, Sarah and their classmates swap their everyday clothes, smartphones and chewing gum for uniforms and serving trays. At the college restaurant and in the classroom, they learn the rules and precisely processes linked to French restaurant service: a field in which tradition, discipline and perfection are a priority. Strict, yet fair, the teachers convey the value of a profession that demands patience and putting one’s needs to the side above all else. Between teaching sessions and the different components of service, the portrait of a generation confronted with the expectations of the labour market comes into focus: they need to learn a profession and conform while simultaneously looking for recognition and their own path. The film observes these young people in their training routines with sympathy and attentiveness and explores the contrasts between the idealised image of gastronomy and the harsh reality. For them, this training isn’t always a decision based on conviction, but merely one of the few possible paths into professional life. A lively, unadorned look at becoming an adult and looking for one’s place in a future that offers little and demands many compromises.

Lina Dinkla

He is „always sad“, says Uncle Thuận. Connected via mobile phone with his family who are scattered across the world he sings sentimental songs about spring in Hanoi. Meanwhile, his wife Thúy tirelessly looks after the restaurant that the two have been managing in North Rhine-Westphalia for twenty years. They came to the GDR as contract workers at the age of 19. In conversations with their daughters, life stories unfold in which they were rarely expected to decide anything but always to work hard and to function. A role they accept without complaint and justify even today. But the protective shell accumulated over decades increasingly begins to show cracks. And somewhere in the endless routines and tasks of a restaurant kitchen which also structure the film, a question quietly emerges: the question of happiness. In Minh Anh Nguyễn, a post-migrant generation speaks up who regard contract work and racism in the GDR not as a closed chapter but as part of their history. Casual and very close to her protagonists, she tells of colonial legacies that have inscribed themselves into biographies and across generations. At the same time, she shows how this cycle can be broken: By the daughters asking questions which – even outside the Vietnamese community and above all in the East – are long overdue.

Grit Lemke

Alba Zari was born in Bangkok inside what was said to be “a hippie community” that her grandmother, Rosa, and her mother, Ivana, had joined. But she doesn’t recall much of her childhood. Longing for answers, Alba delves into the painful work of remembering: trying to understand her grandmother’s decision to join the Children of God sect, the far‑reaching consequences of her mother’s indoctrination, and her father’s identity. In conversations and everyday moments with her grandmother and mother, Alba learns more about the cult, the ‘Flirty Fishing’ practice, and widespread sexual and psychological abuse of its members, including children. The traces of pain are still tangible years later, showing in Alba’s tears rushing out before words, in the trembling of hands, and in her mother’s constant over-apologising. Alba “lives the questions”, hoping to find answers; however, as the journey unfurls, she realises it may not be about answers but about accepting absence as a constant presence, and not being defined by it. A film about family wounds, memory, and the resilience of ties that bind us.

Sevara Pan