Auditorium Casino Espinho
Subtitled in English and Portuguese
Tomorrow is a Water Palace | Juanita Onzaga | BEL | 15’
Sybille is the last person alive on a planet with no history or water.
She roams through arid lands, traveling through strange visions.
Entities with more memory than humans communicate with her.
How to persuade the spirit of the waters to come back to earth?
Parade | Ines Sieulle | FRA | 20’
A night doctor walks through a village invaded by the Wohlfahrtia Magnifica fly. Indoor and outdoor, winter tourist activities in Bessans rub shoulders with the rurality of local residents.
Whirlwinds | Adriana Jamisse & Sara Carneirov | MOZ | 17’
"Whirlwinds" explores visual, emotional and movement landscapes relating to the experience of pathological anxiety.
It is a sharing of that inner world recurring to symbolism and body-based performance exploring the different facets of the experience of debilitating anxiety. The wind appears as a metaphor for the emotional state, as its cyclical and often chaotic passage powerfully affects the material world, yet it is in of itself invisible and shapeless.
More than a visual conversation between anxiety, the body and natural elements, "Whirlwinds" is a peek into an intimate emotional journey and psychological endeavours.
Are You OK | Mattis Ohana Goksøyr | NOR | 4’
Sara experiences another woman's orgasm and gets a new view on life.
Motorcyclist’s Happiness Won’t Fit Into His Suit | Gabriel Herrera | MEX | 10’
There he sits proudly on his beautiful motorbike which he would never loan to anyone. He is certain that he alone can explore the jungle. A playful re-enactment with reversed roles that takes aim at the hubris of the colonial conquerors.
The Land of Cruciform Sun | Aleš Zůbek | CZE | 12’
The watersheds have become a hatchery for crystalline matter that slowly overgrows objects and whole ecosystem whose time has run out. A moment of infinite refraction begins.
Changing Skin | Maxime Coton | BEL | 6
We are little miracles. Tiny ones, even, who never stop shedding our skins, over and over. The world settles in our sweat. Alone, though, with no memory of what drove us into this life that jealous people claim is ours. Forgotten, skins fall one after another, like caresses that—much moreso than our cells, in truth—create them, these skins, which are neither ours nor those of others, regardless of the energy that we spend, at night, exchanging them.