The two friends Pingu and Bear push their bicycle up a mountain, passing through forests, meadows and deserts. They brave ice storms and have to cross fields of lava. After this long, seemingly endless journey they finally reach the highest peak. They gather all their courage for the best descent ever.

Lina Dinkla

A distant wood thrush is singing against the pitch-black backdrop of the image. A fly acoustically approaches with a massive, bass-heavy hum, abruptly stopped in its flight by the sound of a crash. Sounds so familiar that we are usually not even aware of them provided the main sonic material for the renowned sound designer Claude Beaugrand. His long-standing artist friend, filmmaker Pierre Hébert, dedicated his five animated fugues to him. Field recordings like those of the bird and insect derive their vitality from their recognisability through repetition, as well as from their ephemeral nature, with its random inflections and variations. Hébert forms a sonic body through stretching, echo loops and granulated sounds. And he scratches directly onto the film material, working against the physical resistance of the emulsion. Each “brushstroke” created this way has an unpredictable, intuitive element. Each powerful or tender graphic gesture radiates vitality. Just as the thrush and the fly meet acoustically, abstract bundles of lines flutter nervously on the surface of the screen and into its depth, circling the pared-down silhouette of a human being in free fall. Intertitles lyrically describe a pain that must be expressed but for which there are no direct words. “Prelude and Fugues – The Wood Thrush” is an indescribable experience of choreographed sounds, an inner cinema born of the delicate essence of animation and the irresistible enticement to listen intently.

André Eckardt

Dramas that many children have to endure play out in silence and hiding: The girl cuddling her dog because her own mother is staggering about with a glass of red wine, probably pregnant again. The boy as a toy ball caught between his aggressive parents who rain their arguments down on him with hacking beaks. Another girl who balances a dangerously wobbling seesaw with her family members on it. With her intimate cut-out animation, Marianne Bundgaard Nielsen metaphorically leafs through the family albums and shows the stories hidden by the staged photos. The adults are dreary puppets, sometimes fading drawings, addressing suicides within the family. The children, on the other hand, are much more lively figures with big accusing eyes, small read hearts and sometimes even coloured butterfly wings. You have to let them flutter and fly instead of unloading so much of your own misery on them.

Marie Ketzscher

It is summer. Émile and his older sister Françoise are enjoying the last warm days in their holiday home on the edge of the forest, observing the night sky and looking out for comets. But one night the peaceful atmosphere is abruptly disrupted when the two siblings witness a cruel prank played by the neighbourhood boys. In his anger and helplessness, Émile wants to teach the kids a lesson. Afterwards, nothing is the same for him anymore and he has grown a little.

Lina Dinkla

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

The baseball as an omen. While people watch spellbound as the leather ball flies through the air, maybe even losing themselves in this entertaining pastime in front of the television set or in the stadium, a worried bird is watching. Because the flying ball is gradually turning into the globe, which the bird now tries to protect with its own feathers in a makeshift nest. Originally conceived as a submission for an MTV competition, Killi has already found her important life themes with this debut film: the use of multiplane cut-out animation and the great empathy with which she articulates her bond with nature and the environment. For her, “The Glass Ball”, visually inspired by Eastern European masters like Yuri Norstein, is a reminder of the fragility of our earth to this day.

Marie Ketzscher

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