Roman Vehlken

In biology, an organism is any individual entity that exhibits the properties of life. It is a synonym for life form. A life form travels across the universe and lands on this planet. Who it is, what it looks like, remains unclear. It could be many, it could be everywhere. Children, a meteorite, algae, fish, old women, the character Ophelia from Shakespeare's Hamlet or a computer program. Diary of an Organism is a footage film in various senses: made out of images found in Internet archives, of own images and text fragments, remnants of several former films never used, but always remembered. Different forms of collecting, archiving, remembering and organizing dehierarchically shape the films rhythm becoming a sensory impression, "gelatinous", like the jellyfish in it.

Pouco antes das férias de verão, uma jovem deixa de ter ataques epilépticos. Durante seus últimos dias com os colegas de turma, ela vive a vida de uma forma completamente diferente.

Nos Cárpatos do Sul, famílias inteiras passam o verão em acampamentos improvisados, saindo ao amanhecer em busca de cogumelos e bagas. As estruturas informais desse microcosmo formam o menor elo de uma cadeia industrial em toda a Europa.

The life and death of socialist architectural monsters. An epic fairy-tale in five chapters.

All Creatures Welcome explores the world of hackers and nerds at the events of the Chaos Computer Club, Europe's largest hacker association. The film dispels common clichés and draws a utopian picture of a possible society in the digital age.

My grandmother was convinced that the only animal that made the same mistake twice is the human being. A short essay film about my very own Internet, a parallel world where memory loss, errors, surveillance and addiction smear everything and everyone.

A person enters the frame dressed up as a bird. In a dressing room, John Malkovich sheds the costume of Casanova. A young woman's skirt is just as orange as the beak of a zebra finch singing in a cage. White lilies stand at the foot of a statue of the Virgin Mary, red roses in front of the window of an SM studio. There the quiet game of submission in exchange for money, in a museum an embrace, a poem whispered in the ear. Children playing in a forest in autumn. A forest in summer, framed by light. An orgasm and a dance.

Teenagers are moody, pimply monsters. But they are also curious, sensitive beings undergoing a fascinating biological metamorphosis. This visually stunning science documentary takes us deep into the mesmerising world of adolescents and reveals the scientific miracles of puberty.

Teenagers are moody, pimply monsters. But they are also curious, sensitive beings undergoing a fascinating biological metamorphosis. This visually stunning science documentary takes us deep into the mesmerising world of adolescents and reveals the scientific miracles of puberty.

“These things don’t happen by force,” says Observer A. “Or by one’s will,” adds Observer B. Fictitious Force is an exchange on the impossibility to share experiences, in black and white and grey.

The image of a room, its appearance changing with the shades of light. A window front, seen through the window. Changing flower arrangements on a side table. Sounds, entering the room from outside the frame. A construction site hints at changes in the exterior. Rehearsals. Are the sound waves of the piano reaching us from downstairs or from next door? In 21.3 °C Helena Wittmann reduces the filmic elements to the essentials: light, shadow, sound, direction. Out of this minimum, stories emerge that linger, atmospheres that resonate. Little by little the viewer is thrown back upon herself/himself. Through the facing window front someone seems to look back at us. Only the temperature remains the same.

In addition to demonstrating the unexpected complexities of individual life paths, THE WILD establishes the possibility of “cinematic space” becoming a type of “third space”. Two seemingly contrasting spaces merge to construct a new space. The first space is the living room of a retired couple. The second space is embodied in Super 8 recordings filmed by the old man during his numerous trips to Africa and Asia during the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. The pictures show exotic animals which are projected directly onto the walls and furniture of the house. The assembly of these differing spaces does not create a more succinct boundary between them, but rather assists in the mingling of the two spaces. In this fleeting moment of third space, as it is limited by time, a new cinematic reality is formed.

Gerti Gerbert was photographed by her husband Eugen over a period spanning more than forty years. Besides the obligatory family photographs, from their wedding day until his death Eugen took countless pictures of Gerti: in her underwear, in homemade summer frocks, or completely naked; on the beach, in the woods, in the car, or on the floor at home. Using the Gerberts’ picture archive, interviews with Gerti, and Eugen’s notes, the film looks at what remains of life and love at the end.

Over and over again, structures of larger contexts can be retrieved in details. They mirror, they contradict, they caricature each other. And again, all human thinking seems to be an enormous utopia within the framework we can hardly adjust. Our physical space is limited, but therein, mental constructions come to improbable proportions. The film connects fragments of memories, thoughts and observations, finding recurrent themes in different graduation. Therefore these fragments become something different, they form their own.