a deranged killer stalks the dark streets of McMinnville Oregon searching for victims to slay with their giant mummified penis

Two women exchange cinematic letters that connect the past and present. Heidrun, a Viennese woman, and Sara, a Colombian migrant, live in the city at different times—whether in fiction or reality is not always clear.

Unfolding between a mine, ritual, Shakespeare, and a photo lab is a multilayered network of labor, power, and representation. Lisl Ponger asks how history becomes visible—and what remains invisible when images shape truth rather than depict it.

Ten-year-old Béni collects sounds. Many would dismiss it as mere noise, without really listening closely: the roar of waves, hum of a high voltage power line, her own heartbeat. A poetic film essay about seeking and finding of what is overheard—in cinema and in everyday life.

The Vienna University of Economics and Business, first built in the 1980s, is facing a not so certain future despite grand announcements: should the building be demolished or can it possibly be renovated? And if so, how? Christoph Schwarz poses questions that go beyond the redesign of the site and the building itself.

Between pictures of his grandfather as a youth and childhood photos of his mother, the filmmaker discovers images of a Nazi rally in Innsbruck. The immediacy of the images leaves him speechless. In a video call, he talks with his mother about how to deal with such a find.

When Viki Kühn’s father suffers a stroke, her mother suddenly becomes the new head of the family. With the hand camera, the director accompanies her parents for the next eight years, and in doing so, doesn’t shy away from showing the immediate effects of the illness. A powerful plea for recognizing invisible care work, and an emotional reflection on growing up. What is tangible in life is always fleeting; all that remains is memory.

A multifaceted cinematic letter addressed to one’s own family; black-and-white and silent, written only in subtitles. Composed of photographs, footage from a market, and video images of a border crossing in 2013. A personal, poetic, political gem.

As white paper cups are prepared for the brown rum balls, a familiar togetherness and well-known images of family and home unfold. But the director’s instructions from off screen interrupt the cozy scene—turning the home movie into a film about making films.

The story of Tierra del Feugo’s vanished indigenous population. With the help of nature footage, historical photos, texts, and drawings, a dialogue emerges between past and present. In interview sequences, descendants of indigenous people speak, while research reports recount the brutal missionary campaigns.

A dying horse, its owner, and her son. One night in the stable. With minimal means, Eric M. Weglehner creates a highly charged situation in which the energy of an unhealthy relationship not only defines the present but also points to a long history of abuse.

Summer in Vienna. Fifteen-year-old Matthias spends his time roaming the city with his best friend Leo until late at night. But life can sting a young person, too: an undefined gravity hangs over their shared time, triggered by loss.

Mirai (The Abyss) draws on the world of Ghost of Tsushima to shape a brief, concentrated meditation on conscience under pressure. Beginning with a textual intervention, the film turns toward habituation, moral fatigue, and the threshold where violence stops appearing as rupture and sinks into the texture of experience. De Simone counters the game’s dramatic momentum with a quieter dissonance, redirecting attention to ethical aftertone, the residue produced when repetition dulls the force of response. Its restraint is what gives the work its edge. Mirai (The Abyss) follows the normalisation of the intolerable, showing how exposure reorders feeling before crisis fully declares itself.

Set within the ravaged world of Pathologic Classic HD, The Last Harvest unfolds across a landscape marked by disease, exhaustion, and slow attrition. Cocco works through the game as an atmospheric field saturated with depletion, where every sound, surface, and bodily trace carries the weight of a world wearing down. Barren streets and exposed figures accumulate with quiet insistence. Falling leaves, distant cattle, the tolling of a bell, and the persistent signals of the game interface acquire unusual pressure, no longer incidental details but elements in a visual rhetoric of fragility. What the film records is a condition of survival stripped of heroism and reward. The Last Harvest stays with what endures after renewal has withdrawn, when the world continues in a diminished state, poised between persistence and abandonment.

An unorthodox therapist uses his questionable tactics to help a couple's issues.

Director Henry Frederick experiments with color and sound to create a new unity between the two elements. The Color of Sound is best seen through the questioning of what distortion and electronic feedback looks like.

A sweeping yet intimate journey across a planet in flux. Moving from the sinking shores of North Carolina’s Outer Banks to the windswept deserts of Mongolia, from the subterranean dwellings of Coober Pedy in Australia to the thawing coasts of Greenland, the film enters the “rooms” of our shared global home. In each place, lives unfold at the fault lines of change: a family planting trees against encroaching sand, communities building underground to escape relentless heat, fishers navigating uncertain waters.

Two journalists head to the Pont Neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris, to interview young people about how often they frequent this place and what motivates them to go there.