Survivance

Every year since 2011, a unique beauty contest has been taking place in Haifa. The contestants are female survivors of the Holocaust. In the midst of this flashy spectacle, their personal traumas remain as deep as ever. There are many things about this contest that are controversial: it is organized by the right Zionist organization, the International Christian Embassy Jerusalem, and the dubious contest itself rises the public indignation of various speakers, including other survivors.

When Danish filmmaker Lea Glob first portrayed Apolonia Sokol in 2009, she appeared to be leading a storybook life. The talented Apolonia was born in an underground theater in Paris and grew up in an artists’ community—the ultimate bohemian existence. In her 20s, she studied at the Beaux-Arts de Paris, one of the most prestigious art academies in Europe. Over the years, Lea Glob kept returning to film the charismatic Apolonia and a special bond developed between the two young women.

For Serbian filmmaker Mila Turajlic, a locked door in her mother's apartment in Belgrade provides the gateway to both her remarkable family history and her country's tumultuous political inheritance.

From the open air theater in the Bois de Boulogne the sex workers Heden, Claudia and Samantha, tell about the woods which is their work place.

In an unexplored vault in Belgrade, the capital of the former Yugoslavia, lies a collection of films known as “the Labudović Reels.” On them are images of African and Asian liberation movements and revolutionary leaders that defined the era of the 1960s. How is it that the archive of these revolutions lies on another continent, forgotten in a film archive? The answer to this question takes us into the story behind the images, on an intimate voyage with the man who filmed them. As the cameraman of Yugoslav president Tito, Stevan Labudović captured an era of politics, personality and promise, filming the birth of the Non-Aligned Movement. Sent on missions by the President to film liberation wars, he would play a key role in the information battles that defined the era of decolonization. Together with Ciné-Guerillas, this film diptych examines the legacy of these extraordinary archives, seeking to project their political vision forward.

A story of finding a place to root yourself when life’s obstacles have dispirited you. Chang-su, a former equestrian athlete for the South Korean national team, was forced to give up on his dream early. He finds himself working at a quarry in the rural town of Minawa in western Japan, where he lives with Minami and her infant daughter. Yamabuki, a teenage girl, begins to stage silent protests that blossom into community action, much to the dismay of her policeman father. The quiet surface of this rural town is gradually peeled off to reveal frustration and loneliness that, once given a voice, begin to connect people.

The Idomeni refugee camp housed people from the Middle East who were trying to cross the border into Europe. When the Greek police closed the camp, the refugees resisted and blocked a railway line used to deliver goods. Maria Kourkouta’s minimalist documentary not only observes these events but also presents carefully modeled static images that open up the space within and without the frame of view, and in the closing black-and-white sequence offers a poetic commentary. The result is a bleak portrait of a place where endless lines of refugees try to preserve the final remnants of their individual freedoms. “This film is a call to welcome the refugees that cross the European borders, as well as the ghosts that return with them.”

In Spanish, ladrillo means bricks. It used to mean boom, construction, production, speculation. Today, ladrillo means crisis: disused clay pits, factories that are closed half of the year, ghost-towns, subprime mortgagers facing eviction. Bricks shows how the life of a simple commodity can be the mirror of a global crisis, and tells the story of people who come up with individual and collective strategies to overcome a seemingly desperate situation.

At the outskirts of Paris, in a rapidly-changing suburb, a group of Romanian families are searching for a place to live. From their abandoned village, to the demolished slum and occupied houses, their quest weaves together a common history, forged through solidarity and marked by displacement. Accompanying them on their journey, we build this film as an alternative habitable space.

Through my window-camera, during urban adventures, views of Algiers, where, as a child, after Algerian Independence, I learned about liberty, and which some decades later after immigrating against my will and deliberately becoming an exile, I chose as my city. I was then a "wife of the Republic of Madagascar," as the left-hand side page of my passport noted, while the right-hand side declared "of the ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary." Disembodied, words off-screen, intervening one over the other, simultaneous encounters of polyphonic voices glide.

French poet Thierry Metz killed himself in 1997. He'd moved to the country with his wife and 3 kids but after the youngest is struck dead by a car, the sensitive artist sinks into depression and alcohol, leading to time in a facility.

It's autumn. A man and a woman are about to leave a restaurant situated in the heart of the Lebanese mountains. They are suprised by fighter planes screaming past at low altitude. In the distance, war seems to be breaking out once more. Losing sight of the woman, the man starts looking for her. He finds her on the other side of the mountain. Together they sink deeper into nature, which becomes increasingly spectral, just like the slender thread that ties them to each other.

Benoît built his paradise hidden from view, emancipated in his own way, resolved to face the constraints of a space which, in imaginations, conflicts with his identity. The countryside. One day, he and other queers from the area decide to organize the first Pride of the Périgord vert, because it is time to come out, to take up space to celebrate, heal, and finally open a path.