In “The Eclipse” Nataša Urban studies the ever-captivating play of refractions between individual histories and capital-letter History, with an emphasis on the members of her Serbian- origin family. In the interval between two solar eclipses – the one from 1961 and the one from 1999 - a multinational state grows and develops, to then collapse in terror and pain. A crazy century for Serbia, flanked by multiple wars and fratricidal conspiracies, is brought back to life through personal stories that colour the past in the nuances of trauma and apparent normality – see the father’s attempts to continue pursuing his passion for hiking throughout the 1990s, that are nevertheless interrupted when the forest itself becomes the scene of indescribable atrocities. By exhuming collective dramas on the trail of recent memory, a memory that was so abused under Slobodan Miloševic, Urban purposefully rattles the cage of nationalism, the spectre of which continues to lurk in the Balkans, this famous powder keg of Europe. (Victor Morozov)

Socially neglected children, taking care of themselves, they dare go stealing and break the law. They argue with parents who neither understand them nor do they have feelings for them. As a counterpoint to this story we see a TV show where a popular actor-entertainer Gula addresses happy and care-free children.

The film presents a series of portraits and situations people found themselves in after being made redundant during the time of economic reforms, which were supposed to establish a market economy in Yugoslavia. In the interviews, people speak about their doubts and confusion, because they had been expecting socialism to give them more social security.

The film is documenting student demonstrations in Belgrade in June 1968. It was shot for the most part in the court of the Faculty of Philosophy, where students gathered up and where famous artists participated, thus showing solidarity with the students.

One night, Žilnik picks up a group of homeless men from the streets of Novi Sad and takes them home. While they enjoy themselves, the film maker tries to ‘solve the problem of the homeless,’ carrying along a film camera as a witness. He speaks to social workers, ordinary people. He even addresses policemen. They all close their eyes in front of the ‘problem.’

Belgrade 1994, a man in Marshal Tito’s original uniform appears in different parts of the city. Instantly, groups of people flock around him and get involved in passionate discussions. Almost all of them accept to play the game, complain about the old times in Yugoslavia or blame Tito for everything.

The documentary “Foragers” is the answer to an unmistakable filmmaker’s question: how to depict without epigonism what was already shown so many times before? Jumana Manna’s trick is as original as it is efficient: she picks out a plant – the za’atar – disputed by Palestinian and Israeli citizens, and turns it into an exquisite metonymy. The aromatic plant comes to function as a substitute for a geopolitical canvas, skipping over the exposition of the West Bank conflict with quite a lot of humour. “Foragers” works admirably as an investigative film (regarding an abusive Israeli law which deprives the Palestinian people of a symbolic plant) and as a thriller (the sequences where the “robbers” and the “cops” chase each other through fields of weeds – a scene worthy of burlesque films, where the stake happens to be precisely national identity). An important lesson, which reminds us that in cinema it is often matters of nuance that make the difference: angle, tone, playing with registers. Let us bet on the gaze that devised ”Foragers.” (Victor Morozov)

The short film “Urban Solutions” starts from the golden age of Europe’s domination over Brazil, then expands its observation to the paranoia that reigns nowadays among the nation’s privileged strata, who retreat behind the walls of their properties and oscillate between dependency on, and suspicion of those who serve them. The filmmakers intersperse extracts from a German artist’s notes on life in Brazil during the colonial era and, most importantly, the relationship between master and slave, with glimpses of the routines and the testimonies of those who ensure the safety and well-being of contemporary elites, suggesting, through rich observational footage as well as elaborate tableaux, that the roar of the slaves’ revolts has not entirely receded into the past. (Liri Chapelan)

Filmmaker Joseph Mangat insinuates himself into the work schedule of some Filipino factory labourers with finesse and flexibility. Not just any factory, though – because this is precisely the trick with this film: the cleverness with which it accompanies its theme right into the midst of some pressing and unexpected consequences. The place in question is interesting not only due to the end product of the work (some kitschy statuettes representing various bright-coloured biblical figures), but also due to its subjects (a bunch of queer characters, assimilated without fuss in this environment.) What results is an unexpected Molotov cocktail, where ambient advertising mysticism, up-to-date identity politics, as well as the barely contained Marxist fervour of the workers, join hands in a truly radical cinematic gesture. ”Divine Factory” proves to be a revelation through the supple simplicity of its mechanism, which refuses neither camp lyricism, nor rigour – in short, a film that knows how to let itself be crossed by the contradictory currents of the present. (Victor Morozov)

Two years after its founding, Vivi Drăgan Vasile makes an assessment of the Foundation: “An idea was born, namely that market economy should somehow also work in favour of the artists. Some outlawry, in other words.” It includes images from George Soros’ visit at FAV and a board meeting of the Foundation.

In a mixture of performance and body art, the artist uses her own face and body as a projector screen and painted background.

On the one hand, the women’s aged faces, filmed among objects collected over a lifetime; on the other, the power of metaphorical images: volcanoes, cemeteries, construction sites. A meditation on the act of passing.

The hypnotic, semi-fictional diary of a young woman’s coming of age in a world which gives her no privacy.

The artist’s hands have their own life, they threaten, caress or turn into a landscape of wrinkles and shadows. This is the third film made by Geta Brătescu and Alexandru Solomon.

Un happening realizat de studenți ai Academiei de Artă, inspirat de o sculptură-obiect a lui Michelangelo Pistoletto. Sculptura traversează Bucureștiul și intră în dialog cu locuitorii orașului, pe fundalul anilor 90.

Two versions – an optimistic and a pessimistic one – of a sonnet by Ion Luca Caragiale turn into video landscapes. Which one do you prefer?

An unconventional chronicle of the literary and artistic Romanian avant-garde. The film recreates the atmosphere of those frenzied years (1916-1947) in the spirit of the avant-garde, through a bewildering collage of fundamental texts and images.

Two directorial gazes intersect in “Eastern Front”: that of Vitali Mansky, a well-known documentarian of the former Soviet space, and that of Yevhen Titarenko, a volunteer enrolled in the fight for the liberation of the Ukrainian territory. In between, the film writes the turbulent chronicle of the first months of war, moving from immersion to detachment in the attempt to convey an image of atrocity. In a surreal sequence, a few soldiers walk through a post-apocalyptic landscape, where a herd of cows is left to die in the muddy fields: with a mixture of horror and skepticism, the people take note of the appalling sight and then move on: “That’s life...” A harsh reality asserts itself in “Eastern Front” shot by shot, as the protagonists approach the artillery barrage: they advance towards the enemy defense line with cynicism and self-deprecating humour, leaving us, the viewers, to figure out what normality – as well as humanity - are all about in this war.  (Victor Morozov)