Berlin International Film Festival — A–Z of films

His rigorous journey conveys a deep sense of beauty.

Although it could easily have been played as a farce, it’s friendship and human feeling that is the key to this film.

As much as Architecton rues humanity’s depletion of our resources, it also marvels at our ability to harness materials for our own ends.

Filled with awkwardness and tension, the film acts as a spotlight for all the actors.

Lin and Sun studiously maintain the enigma around Shuo so that we are left guessing as to whether he’s just a disadvantaged teen trying to make his way in the world or a cuckoo in the nest.

As ever, Soda’s style is patient, unintrusive, and warmly curious.

Vigorously covering all bases, Diop cuts elegantly to give each position ample space.

After messy, overblown mishaps like Gangs Of New York, the maestro of Mean Streets is back. With a vengeance.

Martin Gschlacht’s glorious and smart cinematography adds clarity here while sprinkling doubt over there.

Slippery in terms of genre and form, the writer/director’s satire puts all his characters and, by extension, us under close scrutiny.

Dying is full of glorious contradictions, many of which occur within the same conversation

Even Kafkaesque ideas are subject to chaos.

If you've ever wondered what a Star Wars pastiche by Monty Python might look like if barely any of the jokes landed then the latest film from Bruno Dumont is for you.

This non-sensationalist approach allows much more room to address the psychological effects of prison life itself, whilst emphasising the mundanity of much of what happened under the Nazis.

The special effects in Roland Emmerich's 1998 remake may have been bigger and better, but what it lacks is the chilling seriousness of the original.

The clever dialogue and spirited performances find humour amid a generational discord developed over a visually striking journey.

Through a punctilious study of many of Fonda’s films, Horwath creates a comprehensive canvas that encompasses both the past and the present of the US.

The silence between the calls serves as a space for the horror of them to fully take shape in the viewers’ mind.

It tells what could be a goofy story, about awkward teenagers obsessed with a TV series called The Pink Opaque, but portrays it as an ominous, nightmarish mindfuck.

L’Homme Vertige forces you to lament changing cityscapes and the fate of residents at the mercy of local authorities and property developers

There's no doubt that by presenting several characters as pure id is quite a dangerous gambit for a filmmaker but Glass keeps things interesting by having them driven by different things.

Hinton’s documentary visually points to all the complicated, often triangular entanglements.

There’s a sweet, melancholy flavour to Clapin’s work.

While many other films feel as though they are really staking out a deliberate political stance against the Iranian regime or coming at it from deep within metaphor, My Favourite Cake is casually, but almost constantly, rebellious in small ways.

Through a collage of footage shot by numerous brave protesters, she pieces together a statement about film as identity, in a country where the individual slowly fades away.

The Italian filmmaker employs a minimalist approach that embraces the languorous nature of summer.

A lot of the time, we talk about forgetting as a form of letting go, but in Inadelso Cossa’s sophomore docu-fiction feature, forgetting is a haunting, undead, presence.

No Other Land brings humanity and particularity to a topic that is too often discussed in the abstract.

Distances of time and space are collapsible in Fingscheidt’s hands.

A confident and well-constructed tale that is built on the firm foundations of a great ensemble cast.

It’s quickly apparent that entering prison means becoming part of the collective body that is the prisoner population, with the choreographed movements that accompany the songs reinforcing the sense of synchronicity.

Tarkovsky's gently gliding camera expertly frames each shot and the use of light and of crisp natural sound is breathtaking.

David and Craig Zellner aren’t just here to make us laugh - although they certainly achieve that - they’re also in the business of building a detailed and delicate world around a year in the life of their creatures that proves surprisingly poignant.

It’s a reflexive, even self-conscious work, interested in the infrastructure of oil, of film.

Salome’s story has been shaped again and again by men; she is, perhaps, the first recorded subject of the male gaze. Egoyan is conscious that he is not in a position to resolve this, yet strives to bring female perspectives to the fore

I do not know that I could ever with a good conscience describe a film as 'perfect' but this comes close.

Gently plunges into a richly-textured reverie of unobserved objects, spaces and people that leave a lasting impression on a visceral level.

The intensity between her and the angry young man drives the action in Sons, capturing a relentless cycle of aggression reverberating throughout the sullen halls.

While the lo-fi production design on the spaceship - with its man-made webbing and items from food tins to tools strapped down left right and centre - is absorbing in its detail, there's only so long it can distract you from the film's bloated running time.

Becerra’s film is a measured affair that takes pleasure in its surroundings, whether it’s the mountain lakeside where the alpacas graze or the warm intimacy of Felciano’s home.

Huppert's lines feel stiff from the get-go, predicting a vague narrative limited by a purposefully strange dialogue.

After seeing this film, you will never look at watermelon the same way again.

Starting as a refined drama about a broken Tunisian family, the narrative becomes a complex meditation on attachment and motherhood, all encompassed by a remarkable female lead.

The film works as well as it does because of the central pairing of Goussens and De Saeger, whose shared glances and stray touches work on an emotional level.