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In 1978, just after Le fond de l'Air Est Rouge, which mercilessly analyzed the previous ten years of the revolutionary left's momentum until its collapse, Chris Marker made this complementary piece entitled Quand le Siècle a Pris Forme (Guerre et Révolution).

Pigpen has a snore. Bailey has a lot of nerve. And Curt Garrish has a gun.

A wise grandmother, a 9-month pregnant warrior mother, and a little girl live in a dry world. Water is scarce, but they are resilient and have found a way of surviving. The moonrise is approaching, which seems to influence their relations and dreams…

In the aftermath of Hiroshima, a group of scientists vowed never to turn knowledge into weapons again, and from that promise, CERN was born. Deep underground, researchers from nations in conflict have worked side by side for decades, driven by curiosity and shared wonder. For 70 years, CERN has stood as an act of hope, a place where collaboration transcends borders, even as the world above grows more divided. Blending poetry, music and rare archival footage of Oppenheimer with remarkable access to the Large Hadron Collider, the film explores how science, politics and culture collide.

In 2024, during an artistic residency at Periférne Centrá (Dúbravica, Slovakia), Cristian Estrella filmed the folkumentary „Medzi dolinami, medzi vŕški, po stopách budúceho zvuku Slovenska“ while producing the album "The Future Sound of Slovakia Vol.1" by Mira Tus Manos. But every film leaves scenes out. What doesn't fit due to time, rhythm, or because the main story needs to go elsewhere. "Medzi scénami, medzi hlasmi" is exactly those outtakes: already edited material that no one had seen, divided into two parts —SIDE A and SIDE B— where artists from Argentina, England, France, Catalonia, Amsterdam, New Zealand, and Slovakia speak not only about the project but also about their own artistic practices, personal stories, and internal maps.

In home-movies shot in the ‘90s by her father, the filmmaker discovers in these inherited images powerful fictions of the Argentinian middle class and the country’s recent history.

My great-grandmother, Frieda Riesenfeld, recounts moving into her first apartment in the United States after escaping from Germany in 1938.

An exploration of memory after death.

An atmospheric essay, which is an alternative version of Count Dracula, a film directed by Jess Franco in 1970; a ghostly narration between fiction and reality.

A cinematic essay interweaving private archive images and a mixture of reflective, speculative and poetic intertitles that, like “an old movie from the 20th century”, invites us to meditate on what Des Pallières once liked to call “our old homeland”.

Cesta Dimensão

Duras Raízes

Efemeridade Introvertida

Haikai Eternidade

A girl from Hainan recounts her youth in a seaside village she couldn't leave.

Pet Shop works as an experiment on regret and suffering. A juxtaposition of a dog in a pet shop and a window. Narrated from the perspective of God, or the Devil, the text recounts discussions a person has had with Him. The person accuses Him of destroying his life. This could be for a sin, a murder, or for falling in love with a person of the same sex.

Man tries to decipher a manuscript about an ancient civilization and gets involved in strange situations. In fact, the plot is just an excuse to tackle the subjects of mysticism and human condition.

Loops of footage of busy highways form the shape of a human head turning its face in all directions.

"By composing the rhythmic scores of the images of Black Sun I pursued “a beauty of power”, as the poet Pierre-Jean Jouve writes, rather than a beauty of harmony, drawing light sculptures that unfold over time and are engraved in the night of the retina according to optical-luministic scores regulated by the laws of an inner metric..." Arcangelo Mazzoleni, Work diaries, 2003

a raw descent, billowing fast & spun 'til the time we'll force the soil to swallow ourselves: too far gone, & no backwards to safety. only spirals of wasted water down dirty, half-clogged drains, razed by fates written for us in cold ash by the bones of ancient smokestacks.