First we hear a crackling sound, then a diffuse orange light glows in the darkness. A siren growing louder and the sound of a helicopter instantly mark the scene as a place of danger. There is a fire. First in the distance, a moment later everywhere. Trees and palms go up in flames. The fire’s power is immense. The firefighters and everyone else who is fighting the wildfires around Los Angeles act with remarkable calm. Nobody is running, the communication chain is working smoothly, TV reporters are broadcasting live, helpers are setting up emergency shelters, taking care of injured animals, cutting fire lines in front of neighbours’ homes. A tried-and-tested routine, efficiency and a great willingness to help. The crisis seems to bring out the best in the people. This uncommented observation is also a tribute to their commitment. But the longer it goes on, the more the question arises why solidarity and sustainable action seem to work in emergencies, while it seems impossible to tackle the crisis before it becomes an inferno. The film’s cinematic meditation on pyropolitics takes a look at our age of multiple crises. The permanent global fire management makes it easy to forget that behind those fires lie geopolitical causes that must be dealt with – not with water, but with political decisions.

Luc-Carolin Ziemann

“We don’t fit together”, one of them says of the “motley crew” tending a garden plot in a pre-fab estate in Schwerin. At first, everyone “muddles through” alone: Omar from Syria, who struggles with being voiceless in a foreign land. Manfred, a widower who thinks of his wife every day and looks after everyone. Kateryna from Ukraine, who tries to paint over the war with colourful pictures. Fawze, who lost his homeland three times. Ronny, Wiebke and Max, who are trying to make a fresh start after a life of drugs and violence. Sabine, whose laughter and mischief flare up briefly and vanish again. Petra, who cannot afford to go to a concert after a lifetime of hard work. Richard, who hangs up mirrors not to be alone. Abdul from Afghanistan, master of okra. They communicate with their hands, feet and “russki jasyk”, swap tips on the right way to plant garlic and on tools, soon sit together under the chestnut tree, singing, fighting for the project … And from her balcony Mrs. Müller recites Goethe, following it up with a peace poem. DEFA veteran Dieter Schumann and his cinematographer Michael Kockot achieve what was once the origin and virtue of documentary film: giving the unheard a voice through precise observation, a voice based on closeness, trust and respect. The neighbourhood garden is a site of “small miracles”. One of them is this film.

Grit Lemke

“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

Thick smoke clouds rise at the horizon. Oil bubbles from the ground. The gills of a dead fish are black. A sonorous voice recites a poem about blood, anger and the oil-contaminated landscape of the Niger Delta. A crowd of people join in for the refrain. Writer and activist Nnimmo Bassey has been protesting for decades again the oil extraction in the south of Nigeria and its consequences for humans, nature and agriculture. The Ogoni, an ethnic minority from the region, are particularly affected, with their whole basis for life under existential threat as a result. In the 1990s, they organised a powerful political movement, which was violently put down by the military government – also in the interest of Western oil concerns. How is it possible to put up political resistance in such circumstances? “Hope Is a Word” is the portrait of a man who believes in the power of poetic language. With his workshops, Nnimmo Bassey manages to mobilise a new generation of rhetorically and literarily gifted activists. When they read, rap or recite, the film puts their words into the frame in demonstrative fashion. Poetry becomes a political tool here. For a call can come from a verse, a call that others then follow.

Jan-Philipp Kohlmann

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