Recent developments in the European political landscape, like the rise of the far right when it comes to voters’ intentions among citizens from almost all states of the region, clearly demonstrate that the horrors of the past can be forgotten alarmingly fast. Others of them, however, don’t get to be forgotten, as they don’t even emerge out of the shadow under which disinterest, weariness, fear, or any other events which are more spectacular in their abomination place them. The latter case is probably the reason which explains why the numerous cases where national and international companies were accomplices of or active participants to crimes against humanity committed by the Argentinian military regime between 1976 and 1983 are so unknown even in the country where the events took place. With the documentary “Corporate Accountability", filmmaker Jonathan Perel’s aim is not so much to inform the general public - the cinematic device of his film is way too demanding to ascribe such intentions to him - as to experiment with the possibilities arising out of the clashes between story and image, as well as the related restructurings. The film has two main elements: on the one hand the voice of Perel himself, who reads from a National Judicial Information Center report on the workers repression during the military dictatorship, and, on the other hand, shots filmed through the car’s windshield, which show the facades of the factories, the executives of which participated in the above mentioned events. Fourty years later, some of them have the same function, while others are in ruins - in both cases the temporality of the static shots seems to amplify under the influence of the unvarying tone which describes acts of cowardice or criminal ardour, and the details of the images become charged with the thought that in these places people worked, and then they were simply sold to their executioners. (Liri Alienor Chapelan)

1968, The Socialist Republic of Romania. Women catch up on the latest tendencies in beachwear, the young hippies of Hamburg are harshly criticized by Romanian students, while Nicolae Ceaușescu reads the famous defiance speech against the intervention of the Warsaw Pact troops in Czechoslovakia. Floating solemnly over all this is The Internationale, sung on a stadium by a crowd of pioneers dressed in white shirts and red ties. A certainty for each probability: the documentary is at the same time a history lesson and an ideological warning sign, the director’s endeavour permanently draws our attention to the functions of the propaganda film, yet without tarnishing the fascination that dwells in the core of the images, that of the figures that wave at us from a past buried in commonplaces and political parti pris. From behind the ideological façade, through bits and pieces cropping up from underneath the idealistic-bombastic discourse, a bygone world is revealed, one that remained captive in the archives of the Sahia studios. Between cultivating tens of varieties of roses on the soil of Dobrogea and the industrial petrochemical brocade fits an entire history. (Andreea Chiper)

In little over an hour, filmmaker Mirjam Landolt depicts the daily life of five teenagers who are now in the course of social reinsertion after a journey through youth detention centers. At the time of the shooting they are integrated in a socio-educational program which involves a Pacific Ocean cruise on a sailing ship, an exceptional circumstance which confronts them with situations that are completely strange compared to their regular environment, but at the same time teaches them some generally accepted behaviours, such as living among other people. The cleverness of the film resides in the extremely steady and unspectacular construction of a subject, the didactic dimension of which is easy to overplay. The trajectories of the protagonists are revealed to the viewer through bits and pieces, through the words of the teenagers themselves, who thus retain a certain degree of control over how they are represented. The freedom they benefit from on the ship, although framed by a team of adults, is never commented on directly, but Landolt’s camera subtly reminds us of the prisoner condition they left behind, by closely filming their somewhat clumsy bodies and their oftentimes opaque faces. If the intention behind the educational program is clear, the point of view of the film is more nuanced: it show affection for these young people, but leaves us perplexed when it comes to what awaits them once they return to “civilization.” (Liri Alienor Chapelan)

Documentary film has a particular fascination with the realm of mental disorders and the institutions which are responsible for isolating it from “normal” society. Since it is presupposed that the psychology of the people who have mental disorders cannot be probed – it is namely in this aspect that their disorder lies – cinema can stick to what it does best: recording the visible realm down to the tiniest detail, behind which, of course, hides an essence as well, one which is ambiguous par excellence. In Miguel Eek’s documentary, the protagonist, Eva – a woman who lost the last six years of her life in a psychiatric ward and is about to take the first steps towards returning to an independent life -, at first glance doesn’t hide anything concerning her inner experiences and feelings. With an exuberance reminiscent of Almodóvar's female characters, she exposes her fears and her hopes for the future in front of anyone who is willing to listen to her. The cascade of her words makes us aware both of her inadequacy in an individualistic and pragmatic world, as well as of the similarity between her inner experiences and feelings, and those of any of us. The difficult ascending path that Eva is committed to climbing is filmed without pathos by Eek, who manages to find the right distance from a character who is constantly performing. Some of the most affecting moments in the film are the rare reverse shots of Eva’s interlocutors, most of them silent, and whose faces reflect what the viewer too gets to feel about the protagonist: affection, some irritation, some amusement, and a lot of concern. (Liri Alienor Chapelan)