A normal working day on a construction site. Thomas, a 40-year-old crane operator, receives a call from his wife asking him to pick her up from the hospital. He finds her crying.

Three women, three generations, one house in the 'Altes Land'.

When the film begins, it is all over. “We know it’s terminal, and that’s all”, says Juliane of her mother Kerstin, who is in great pain and about to die aged just 64. Although the young doctor she consults acknowledges on a personal level that everyone has the right to manage their own death, he nonetheless reminds her that euthanasia is still illegal in Germany. This is even more the case at the Catholic hospice where Kerstin is staying. As relatives come to say goodbye to her mother and the emotions of memories mingle with the anticipation of grief, Juliane finds herself having to do battle with time – unbending, apathetic and monochrome – and this is superbly reflected in the convulsions of the handheld camera in wide shots.
Based on personal experience, Jessica Krummacher’s second feature film vividly relates the painful story of losing a parent. There is no violence or morbidity, rather the director describes the most important of events via the smallest, most fragile of details – the exchanging of words, texts and tender gestures that remain with us and get under our skin.

Two lovers who come from hostile families and whose love must fail because of the hostile environment. Jette Steckel approaches the "greatest love story of all time" from three sides: theatrically, musically with music by Anja Plaschg ("Soap & Skin") and Anton Spielmann ("1000 Robota") - sung and played by Friederike Bernhardt and Jan Plewka - and physically with a "mass movement" of 40 young people from Hamburg.

The framework for action sounds like a flat colportage: two lovers, who come from hostile families and are driven to suicide shortly after the wedding night by bad circumstances, bad coincidences and fantastic rescue operations. But the effect of the piece is limitless to this day. What Shakespeare made of the material is something like the nucleus of all romantic love stories, patterns and standards in art and in life. Til today.

The great, all-bursting love proves to be ready to die for love. It doesn't fail because of the hostile environment - it needs it. It's not about the good game, but about love, which has no chance and is therefore essential. This love resembles the mystical experience of the divine, the absolute. Lovers must die in the theater and in the opera. But their love lasts forever. - This is hardly possible in real life, where “amour fou” dies instead of lovers.

导演米里亚姆·布利泽的科幻小说改编的电影《爱的组成部分》是她为德国柏林电影电视学院（DFFB）拍摄的毕业片，在爱、分离和心痛之间摇摆。苏菲和乔治曾经相爱过，但现在已经分开了。几乎整部电影都发生在柏林同一个门口。在一个椭圆的方式，个别的场景中的死亡，爱恩泽尔泰尔列比描绘了一个家庭，对他们来说，拼凑是一个新的正常的词-并采取一个简洁的看待日常不合理的爱。
The fiction film Die Einzelteile der Liebe (The Components of Love) by director Miriam Bliese was made as her graduation film for the German Film and Television Academy Berlin (dffb), and oscillates between love, separation, and heartache. Sophie (Birte Schnöink) and Georg (Ole Lagerpusch) once loved each other, but now they have split up. Almost the entire film takes place in front of the same doorway in Berlin. In an elliptical way, the individual scenes of Die Einzelteile der Liebe portray a family for whom the word patchwork is the new normal — and take a laconic look at the everyday irrationalities of love.

An intricate psychological ode to simmering emotion amid unfettered separation anxiety, which took home a FIPRESCI Prize and Best Director award from the Berlinale’s Encounters competition.
Lisa is moving into a new apartment, leaving former flatmates Mara and Markus adrift. Mara, in particular, struggles with the change. While everyone else pitches in to help Lisa set up her new home, Mara moons about, mostly just getting in the way. At one point, she even makes a joke about being a ghost – and, as she continues to haunt Lisa’s life, her yearning for things to remain the same becomes infectious.
The second film in Ramon and Silvan Zürcher’s loose trilogy about human togetherness follows their award-winning feature debut, The Strange Little Cat, in building a lingering claustrophobic tension hemmed in by four walls. As extended family members, neighbours, handymen and hangers-on pass in and out of the two flats, a palpable undercurrent of sexual desire and jealously fills the frame, and an increasingly chaotic whirl of ambiguity – underscored by Eugen Doga’s Gramofon waltz – threatens to tear it all apart. As a cinematic madrigal on the nature of impermanence, The Girl and the Spider is a unique work of taut, existential distinction.
“A powerfully choreographed exploration of alienation … told through an uncompromisingly original, tantalizing and opaque narrative that curiously moves like a dancer.” – High on Films