Stars are shining in the evening sky, the sea is lapping against the shore, Esther is standing on the beach with her telescope. She cannot get enough of the celestial bodies! A fish creature appears, looks into the front end of the telescope and gets on Esther’s nerves. Whatever is so interesting about these stars, the sea dweller asks. After all, the underwater world also has some luminous discoveries to offer!

It sprawls, cracks, bursts: The balcony of two flatmates is slowly but steadily overgrown by a red climbing plant with evil-looking tubers. And our flatmates? Sit in the middle, stoically smoking, ignoring the bursting windows behind them. There was a funny rain – but not water.
With this poignant and charged one-take idea and beautifully realistic character design, Stella Hood examines the dilemma of the eternal spectator: Here are two figures who register that there is something fundamentally wrong with the world but simply continue with their daily routines. Who neither get worked up nor wonder nor take action. And whose lethargy is hilarious, not least because it is an uncomfortable reminder of our own inaction. What global crisis could the two be ignoring so nonchalantly? Stella Hood leaves this open, even though the plants make climate change an obvious choice. In any case, a parcel delivery is expected. Have a look downstairs? Sure, “but not today.” “Nah, not today,” the other one replies. “Perhaps tomorrow, we’ll see.”

There are framed wedding photos on the wall, open albums of holiday memories on the table. This is a household of gestures rehearsed for decades. The filmmaker meets life as lived in her grandparents’ Luxembourg home. She tries on her grandfather’s coat and her grandmother’s rings. Out of boredom? Or is it an appropriation of history? Time seems to stand still and yet moves inexorably forward. He takes a nap in a sleeping mask that has open eyes printed on it, she sits at the kitchen table and talks about the onset of her dementia. She enjoys a cigarette by the window to the fullest, letting her granddaughter paint her nails pink. Perhaps to look good on camera, while the grandfather swings his hips to the music from the radio. The couple wrest touching moments from the sense of transience, while a pas de deux tells of love and attachment.

Contemplating your naked body, drenched in tomato sauce, on a frozen pizza – that is the epitome of alienated wage work. Especially if it is the mass product whose quality has to be checked hundreds of times a day at the assembly line. Is it this alienation, the multiple daily consumption of precisely this meal or simply the absence of significant human relationships that make Frankie feel terminally ill and ready to say goodbye to an existence he feels is worthless and empty? Nobody cares, until his body transforms into a wild planet where evolution happens in fast-forward mode: the genesis of life, miniature Frankies performing absurd penis dances, cannibalism, Darwinism, mutual destruction, the eradication of other species – and finally the Frankie planet itself burning out.
Levi Stoops makes us laugh out loud – and yet we feel the bitter taste of self-destruction on our tongue. Will Frankie have the courage to risk a change of life after this apocalyptic experience? Or does the system have him so firmly in its claws that wholesome nature documentaries of exotic flowers are comfort enough – instead of cooking shows where the stone-baked pizzas are tossed into the air with verve?

A creative person suffering from writer’s block is sitting in an artists’ residence. Outside, construction workers are busy, inside, nothing happens – until the landline rings. A supposed Microsoft employee wants to access her allegedly broken computer. She begins to talk – about heartbreak, emptiness, procrastination. The scammer listens and – without realising it – is ensnared by a scam baiter.
“Cold Call” is the tale of an unexpectedly real, almost comforting conversation between these two strangers – and of how easy it is to become part of the structures one believes to be questioning: digital vigilantism, racism, global inequality. Stefanie Schroeder explores a phenomenon that reveals its multiple layers only at second glance. One of these layers is scamming, an attempted fraud based on deception and manipulation that is often committed not out of free will but by slave-like “employees” of small businesses scattered across the globe. Scam baiting turns out to be similarly ambivalent, a counter movement on the internet pretending to be a protective power that seeks to stop fraudulent activities by personal exposure and humiliation, quite often through racist stereotypes. Schroeder approaches this melange with minimalism and humour, masterfully unfolding the complexity of this subject in the process.

We have all been there: A noise escapes in the bus, followed by an unpleasant smell – and everyone knows where it came from. But why are farts so embarrassing? At least that is what fart star Pongy Pippa wonders. She dances with tubas and trumpets in time with our digestion to show how much work and skill goes into making such sounds. A musical show for the most human of noises.

“Do not attempt to reason with this movie. It is raving mad and makes no sense at all.” Aria Covamonas places this announcement right at the start of this wild cutout animation ride through Chinese and Western history (of philosophy) – and keeps their word. Countless figures appear in seemingly arbitrary order who, with no discernible common thread, condemn to death, argue or flirt – but do it in the most absurd and funny way. At one point, for example, Plato appears, who must be bathed by the elephants because he spent too much time in his cave. But Mao, Mickey Mouse, Nietzsche and Lacan also make appearances. They are all taken from the public domain, as are the Chinese dialogues which issue from their mouths, edited by rhythm; the English subtitles have nothing to do with them.
According to Covamonas, any interpretation is possible – and welcome. Nonetheless, themes begin to emerge: The arbitrary use of violence that characterises every authoritarian regime is lampooned, and so is the absurdity of every canon. But Covamonas, too, is influenced by it: A visual homage to Dadaistic collage art à la Hannah Höch, an acoustic reference to the noise of early sound films, this exuberant treasure-trove of sampled global culture can be thoroughly enjoyed and invites us to discover references while drifting through it.

The suitcases are packed, the car is loaded – nothing can go wrong now. And yet everything goes wrong on this holiday. The luggage gets lost, the top-rated hotel turns out to be a dud, and to top it all, the money runs out. But the important thing about a holiday is what you make of it. In this case, it is an original object animation set to a French holiday hit, summer feelings included.

Karla is a dreamer, Karla is charismatic, and Karla is trans. She grows up with her parents in the small Mexican town of Tepoztlán. She loves to wear make-up and dress up. But sometimes, when the world is too much for her, she hides in her room for hours. Fortunately, Karla has friends and a family who support, often understand and sometimes challenge her.
Trans filmmaker Kani Lapuerta followed the daily life and transition of his protagonist over a period of eight years. The result is a colourful, playful and political coming-of-age story told from a trans perspective. Together, Karla and Kani create a cinematic space where their fantasy is as important as their identity – and where both flow into each other. The title of the film refers to a possible gender-neutral form of the Spanish term “niños” that also includes non-binary, trans and gender-fluid children. “Niñxs” is a touching, encouraging film about childhood, creativity and self-empowerment – and a compelling plea for a world in which everyone is simply allowed to be themselves.

Spending your twilight years alone in a remote forest cabin in the Andes with your faithful four-legged friend – what more could you want? Petra, in any case, seems quite content all alone, chopping wood and listening to the radio. But one day her dog discovers a permafrost body in the snow and literally sinks its teeth into it. The result is that Petra has no choice but to take this accidental find back home.
With gloriously absurd and light-handed twists, Stefania Malacchini and Malu Furche tell a warm-hearted and macabre story of growing old – and of late love, for the frozen body is marvellously easy to unthaw, integrate into daily life, or swing back and forth as a dancing partner. The puppet animation is just as affectionate and detailed, whether it is the resolute grey-headed Petra with her no-nonsense style, her dog, whose hunting instinct and playfulness have comic consequences, or the frozen body itself, this 20th-century hiker who died in the deep snow and sometimes looks as if he was about to come to life and run away fast. Petra enjoys her new happiness. But it could be finite: The police are looking for the missing body …

Mathilde’s home is a hive of activity: Mama is getting ready in the bathroom, and Papa is baking a cake. Guests are expected for dinner. Mathilde is supposed to help with the preparations, too. The living room has to be tidied up because her toy cars are scattered everywhere. How lucky that there are two little friends who turn tidying up into a fast-paced car race.

47 animated sketches of a surreal world: a fur collar made of a living wolf; a sawn-off tree that soars to the sky like a balloon; a cat that grows by purring and finally begins to stroke her owner. Réka Bucsi weaves an unpredictable web of fantasies that question human relationships with nature, animals and the cosmos and reduce them to absurdity.