An animated film made entirely out of black and white paper – and told backwards, too! A white she-dog lives in the root cavity of a mighty tree. But what connects the two? Step by step, the film takes us back to their first encounter, when the dog was still a puppy. An equally unusual and strong friendship that withstands even a massive storm.

Lina Dinkla

A bizarre still life. Everyday objects lie carefully lined-up around a bed: scissors, keys, audio cassettes. A dead fish on a plate is surrounded by lemons and tomatoes. A young man lies listlessly on the bed – he does not stir even when the telephone rings and the answering machine clicks on. A rigorously choreographed scenery meets the real voice of a father. He seems needy, absurdly asking for anchovies. Suddenly, the son’s body is wrapped in a bubbling bag, only the feet sticking out, a tube supplying water. The father fancies some Roquefort cheese, but the real thing. Personal overload and powerlessness take on an original shape here – and that is far from all.

Anke Leweke

In a large-scale operation, a group of homeless families occupy some wasteland on the outskirts of Santiago in March 1967. When the police attempt to evict them, a little girl, Herminda, dies in her mother’s arms. The eviction is called off, the people are allowed to stay and, without any existing infrastructure, build the settlement that exists to this day: Herminda de la Victoria. “Full of errors and mistakes, [the film] is my first approach to cinema, albeit to a ‘new cinema’, a Latin American cinema marked by underdevelopment. Nonetheless, the cinematic process, editing and sound represent a fully valid experience to me. ‘Herminda de la Victoria’ champions the interests of the homeless in Chile, suffers with them, is both testimony and a ‘document’ that forces you to take sides.” (Douglas Hübner)

Florian Wüst

The mother’s film archive raises questions. What did she see in the many doll’s faces staring at us through her camera? Why so many shots of flowers? When she herself is in the picture, she is always moving. Was she trying to get away from something? The narrator wants to find their own motifs. But where? It is easy for the mother to say: Film your own reality! Sounds great, but how, when you feel that you are different? As the material is questioned, more and more own images find their way into the film. Integrating themselves. Perhaps they ask the same questions of the world.

Jan Künemund

Paul’s sister is sad: Ever since his little dog passed, her big brother has stopped drawing the fantastic comic adventures in which he and his dog were the heroes. His little sister doggedly insists that he finally complete that one unfinished drawing. And lo and behold, his beloved dog comes back to life in the pictures. Together, the two set out on a last, eventful journey. Maybe this makes it easier for Paul to say farewell. Beautifully drawn in blue and white, the film itself is designed like a comic.

Lina Dinkla

Building bridges over and over again. That is what keeps Florian and Malene busy, because how could it be otherwise: After all, the two children live on opposite sides of a brook but want to play with each other all the time. But then the war comes – and Florian is no longer allowed to visit Malene, because she now lives in enemy country: the brook has become barbed wire. In her child-oriented cut-out adult film (and vice versa!), Anita Killi explores the different ways young and old perceive life, visually inspired by the Norwegian painter Theodor Kittelsen. The microcosms of the little ones are lovingly captured, from playing in the snow to rubbing their noses together, while Killi also directs her attention to the arbitrariness of most conflicts. “War never dies, it just sleeps from time to time”, Florian’s father says, and: It’s the adults who wake it up. But maybe the succeeding generations will come up with something new after all?

Marie Ketzscher