They're called water carriers, domestics, 'gregarios', 'Sancho Panzas' of professional cycling. Always at the back of the group, with no right for a personal victory. These wonderful losers are the true warriors of professional cycling.
At the beginning of the 1960s, when the French pioneers of cinéma vérité set out to achieve a new realism, and when direct cinema in Québec began to vie for notice, the Baltics wit-nessed the birth of a generation of documentarists who favored a more romantic view of the world around them. This meditative documentary essay – from a Latvian writer and Lithuanian director whose composed touch has long dovetailed with the stylistically diverse works of the Baltic New Wave – pushes adroitly past the limits of the common his-toriographic investigation to create a portrait of less-clearly remembered filmmakers. The result is a consummate poetic treatment of the ontology of documentary creation. Also a cinematic poem about cinema poets.
A cinematic journey into one of the greatest European noble families, the Radziwiłłs. Even the King would stand up when Radziwiłł the Black entered the room. Members of the Radziwiłł family weren’t afraid to defend the Reformers when the fires of the Inquisition burned across Europe. It was a Radziwiłł who went on one of the most challenging pilgrimages from Vilnius to Jerusalem and then published an account, becoming the pioneer of travel literature. A mix of documentary and fiction, past and present, and history and its re-enactment, brings to life the essence of a once-popular saying: “I don’t want to be a king. I want to be a Radziwiłł.”
Domingo Domingo, a witty Valencian orange farmer, tries to stand up to the multinational companies that oppress the humble workers of the land.
Two artists, whose work was constrained during the Soviet era, fled to New York. There, they met with their guru Jonas Mekas, the creator of avant-garde filmmaking. He led the way into the bohemian circles and helped them to discover creative freedom.
Every morning Krilli prepares the myriad ingredients required to make the lobster soup at the Bryggjan café, a tiny eatery in Iceland’s dullest town. His wife helps him in the kitchen and yearns to return to Rejkyavik. In the café, Krilli’s brother Alli sits with the old fishermen, the last boxer in Iceland and the translator of Don Quixote into Icelandic. Every day they find a new answer to the world’s problems. Once a month the neighbours meet at the Bryggjan café to remember those who died in Grindavik and pronounce their names. Four crazy musicians play jazz. A few lost tourists turn up at the fishing harbour and are captivated by the atmosphere in the café. Real people, they think. A real place. On the other side of the mountain is the Blue Lagoon, the island’s great attraction. People from all over the world come in fascination to see the volcanoes, the ice and the genesis of the Earth.
The first part of the film – Island of Crete – was created in 2007, as an independent work. The second part – “Confession" – is like an other half of the Island of Crete, which reveals the reality of it as evidence of a rather cruel creative mechanism occasionally opens up even coercive elements. The author is trying to take a good look in the episodes that are often destroyed in the name of the film illusion creation.
A momentary act of revenge transformed the lives of two young Indian women forever. After surviving an acid attack, while carrying scars of human brutality on their faces, both Ritu and Faraha learn daily to redefine their lives through a sea of odd currents.
