sixpackfilm

Elena Wolff submerges into the turbulent world of the young, up-and-coming art scene of Linz. In a series of episodes, Asche tells of three couples and an outsider, of alpha males and muses, of loneliness, and the urge for self-realization. In doing so, this pop satire of the art world exercises a high-volume criticism of both patriarchy and the cultural scene—including unexpected vendettas and bizarre encounters.

We accompany the 90-year-old filmmaker Alexander Hammid on a stroll through New York, wandering with him through the outer and inner landscapes of his world. The observation of details takes on a meditative character.

There are no taboos in the grotesque underground realm of Pfaffenbichler’s 2551 movies, which cross all borders, especially those of good taste. Reviving the original punk spirit of true independent filmmaking, Pfaffenbichler and his ingenious collaborators have concocted another marvel of no-budget ingenuity.

The accomplishments of four handicapped ten-year-olds are recorded on camera. Their determination to do and create is obvious in each action.

The Life of Sean DeLear is a vibrantly multi-faceted, buoyantly propulsive documentary portrait of this irresistibly charismatic one-off — sketched in celebratory but commendably clear-eyed style by writer-director Markus Zizenbacher. There can be very few people better qualified to do justice to this particular tale. Zizenbacher befriended DeLear — born Anthony Robertson in Simi Valley, an obscure California backwater — after the latter relocated to Vienna in the early 2010s.

Bergmanesque ghosts appear at the bedside of Edward Weki, a 75-year-old Sudanese man suffering from the final stage of Parkinson’s: Alma, the nurse of Ingmar Bergman’s film Persona, and a female version of Death from his The Seventh Seal help the old man recover lost memories of his life on the island of Farö.

A young woman move towards a house that holds a potentially dangerous spirit that has been tormenting her. The woman tries to fight against the film itself as it starts to cause the world to collapse.

Idylls in which irritations emerge: Richard Wilhelmer's Strange Love (produced at the California Institute of the Arts) shows us this, implying an agreement with us that it's now normal to see irritations in idyllic vistas, always and everywhere. A clouded idyll is now a familiar, welcome, easily readable, idyllic image. So, one never knows for sure.

A man rescues a boy and later tries to get him off his back but to little avail, so they end up drifting around a subterranean world, populated by grotesque masked figures. A hundred years after Chaplin filmed his first feature film, The Kid, Norbert Pfaffenbichler offers an experimental punk-style interpretation, which the filmmaker himself has defined as a dystopian slapstick film.

The film "Into the Emptiness" describes an example of the ritual game of "serfdom" in a "studio for bizarre eroticism". This game comprises a masochistic phantasy in which theguest assumes the role of an obedient slave and servant while the woman employed by the "studio" plays a domina who rules and punishes without mercy.

Void, elegiac images - a story and loving and dying: A journey entrusts itself to the viewer's ability to associate and creates a collision of melancholy, softly red-filtered vacation images with an (apparently) totally unrelated story.

The day came to a lonesome night / It lasted for such a short time / Does it stop / Love lasts or it doesn't / "Tu veux ou tu veux pas"

"Stranger Than Paradise," vaguely associatively linked to Jim Jarmusch's wintery Eighties road movie, is a genuinely film-choreographed work: a hybrid, subtly futuristic chamber play for eight people and an investigative camera. Set in sunken moods and deceptive images, this dance film is an elegy that marks the transition from one species to the next. "Stranger Than Paradise" is a reflection of the systematic expansion of the human and animalistic into the mechanical and sometimes their hybrid existence. The body is obsolescent: it is still needed but the preparations for its abolition are in progress.

In the darkroom, 50 unexposed film strips were laid across a surface, upon which a frame of "La sortie des ouvrier de l'usine Lumière" was projected. The stringing together of the individual developed sections make up the new film, which reads the original frame like a page from a musical score: within the strips from top to bottom and sequentially from left to right.

Somalia. A policewoman sits in her parked car. After a while, she gets out, puts on her service cap, and enters the prison. There, decisive hours have dawned for young Farah. Organizational machinery starts up around him. Farah is examined by a doctor, instructed by the bailiff, and looked after by an imam. Farah is waiting for his parents to visit. “How are you?” is the question everyone asks him that day. Each time, “Good” is his concise answer. Only when the policewoman takes Farah out of town the next morning does the unspeakable become a painful reality.

Aino is celebrating her bachelorette party. Toni, who was once briefly with Aino, works at the gas station. Lolly has moved away, but always has sex with Aino's mother whenever she returns to her hometown.

Broadcast on the Austrian Television (ORF) in June 1972, TV & VT-Works comprises a series of ‘tele-actions’ in which a cigar-smoking newsreader is periodically interrupted by public interventions raising the question “Is this Art?”. Disrupting the smooth flow of information and thus the illusion of comprehending the world from one’s living room, these actions interrogate TV temporality to examine the mechanisms of production and spectatorship. A work of culture jamming avant la lettre.

A few hours in the life of empress Sisi; a summer night at Gödöllö. A game with operetta and melodrama; a grotesque with much colour, music, dancing, and bloodshed.

Inside a museum, nowadays. A diorama represents two young soldiers in the trenches. All of a sudden, we are thrown into the diorama: the immobile soldiers come to life, there is terror on their faces – the camera dances around them – explosions, chaos, fog: everything flies about in the air. With every gunshot, they shudder and curl up

Dropping Furniture shows the destruction of a living space. The film is conceived as a symbolic image for the loss of an existence.