4.1. – 20.12.24 : ???




Twenty-four Movies


(Berlin International Film Festival, February 16-25, 2024)





I had the opportunity to attend twenty-four screenings at this year’s Berlin International Film Festival.

I did not write actual reviews this year.

After each screening I did however jot down at least one sentence to capture the film’s effect on me.




I left detours while speaking of monsters by Deniz Simsek, smiling happily and feeling reassured.

I left Grandmamauntsistercat by Zuza Banasinska, feeling refreshed and as if I had spent a whole day with it.

I left I Don’t Want to Be Just a Memory by Sarnt Utamachote with a deep feeling of love – and a crushing sense of doubt.

I left A Different Man having been sufficiently amused and only momentarily bored by it.


I left Reproduktion by Kathrin Peschke with a deeper understanding of women’s and mothers’ intergenerational struggles with the patriarchy.

I left Myanmar Anatomy by Prapat Jiwarangsan with a much greater awareness of the multi-directional struggles for emancipation taking place on this tiny planet.

I left On the Battlefield, unsurprisingly, deeply satisfied by the political power of recordings.

I left Mit einem Tiger schlafen by Anja Salomonowitz with a greater appreciation for the humor, existence, and visual extravagance of Maria Lassnig.

I left The Wrong Movie by Keren Cytter with an impression of vacuous liars and their clueless, boisterous pathetic ramblings.


I left Hako Otoko by Gakuryu Ishii in a good mood, deeply satisfied & with a wide grin on my face after the end.


I left Henry Fonda for President by Alexander Horwath with a return to my general factualist conviction about the futility and desolation, the meaninglessness and hopelessness of all existence, all actions and endeavors. It made me smile, very slightly. It felt comforting, like coming home, somehow.


I left Il Cassetto Segreto by Costanza Quatriglio feeling so well entertained, informed and enriched that I asked myself: is this the best movie I will see in the next few days?


I left Dying / Sterben by Matthias Glasner realizing that I didn’t believe any of the actors’ words or actions & that I’m not made to appreciate how these German melodramas milk a series of existential crises at the same time and still end up with a largely hollow, boring movie (second half was at least lowkey funny & showed at least some minimal sense of desire and interesting inner contradictions).

I left Gokogu no Neko by Kazuhiro Soda with a deep appreciation for calm and open and detailed observation as an entirely sufficient path to creation. No interpretation needed. No catharsis required.


I left Scorched Earth / Verbrannte Erde by Thomas Arslan with the, well, unsurprising realization that even a very well done, cleverly crafted crime story ultimately bores me.

I left Deine Brüder by Helene Hegemann with the even less surprising realization that also a very well done, cleverly crafted crime story ultimately bores me.

I left Republic by Jin Jiang with a sense of plasticity and a smile, a certain serendipitous joy that attracts and encourages chance encounters.


I left Shambhala by Min Bahadur Bham with a much better understanding of constellations and landscapes, color sequences and dialogue, and the role of a limited use of song and instrumental music in filmmaking. Will I appreciate the films of John Ford more now?

I left Sayyareye dozdide shodeye man by Farahnaz Sharifi with a similar feeling of desolation, meaninglessness and hopelessness as I had felt four days ago immediately after attending the screening of Henry Fonda for President.

I left Yo vi tres luces negras by Santiago Lozano Álvarez with a calm, relaxed appreciation of the reality of death.


I left Memorias de un cuerpo que arde by Antonella Sudasassi Furniss with more insight and sadness and anger about all the continual and ongoing crimes and the destruction of bodies, sensibilities and desires that is actually at the thanaticist and sadistic core of patriarchy.

I left Averroès & Rosa Parks by Nicolas Philibert with a sense of respect, but also with a clear fear of all those worlds in which so many, if not all, people on this planet are imprisoned, more or less – depending on how direct one can be in conversation and exchange with a handful or even more other people?


I left The Human Hibernation by Anna Cornudella Castro with a deeper appreciation for an aesthetics and an ontology that assumes: there is just one steady state that is evolving, almost frictionless, very hard to notice, into another steady state. I feel at home and seen in this ontology and aesthetics.

I left Redaktsiya by Roman Bondarchuk with a sense of respect for its sardonic yet playful view of the world and his homeland – in times of a brutal war of annihilation.









In The Year of 2023


(as always: in alphabetical order;
January 4, 2024)





Words Of The Year

Hilton Als
My Pinup / White Girls / The Women

Miles Davis & Quentin Thorpe
Autobiography / Prince
The Beautiful Ones / Sly Stone
Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)

Juliet Jacques
Trans: A Memoir

Deborah Levy
Things I Don‘t Want to Know / The Cost of Living / Real Estate

Elliot Page
Pageboy





Sounds Of The Year

Band of Clouds
This is Tomorrow

Thomas Bangalter
Mythologies

Brian Eno
Top Boy

PJ Harvey
I Inside the Old Year Dying

Johnny Kosmo
Pastry






Performances Of The Year

100 gecs
Mission Ballroom Denver, April 13, 2023

Mark Rebillet
Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, Indio, California, April 16, 2023

100 gecs
Boiler Room Los Angeles, March 25, 2023

Mouse on Mars
Silent Green Berlin, September 17, 2023

Alex Tillegreen
Nome Gallery Berlin, September 16, 2023





Thoughts Of The Year

Samantha Harvey
The Shapeless Unease

Christina Sharpe
In the Wake

Stefan Tanaka
History without Chronology

Salomé Voegelin
Uncurating Sound

McKenzie Wark
Raving












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