Berlinale: a better life

On the red carpet, photographers fumble with their cameras. Cosmetics companies advertise their products on huge posters. And in the Hyatt Hotel, elegantly dressed people are discussing important issues: It’s the glittering world of the Berlinale. But different realities are lurking in the dark movie theaters around the Potsdamer Platz - sad stories about those who are not amongst the winners of globalization, those who have a tough time making ends meet and those who have to struggle hard for their dignity and respect.

The ghosts of the past

One of those is Cisco, the protagonist of the movie "Out of my Hand" by Takeshi Fukunaga (Panorama). Cisco is toiling hard at a rubber plantation in Liberia. Working conditions are appalling, and not even a strike can ease them. Cisco hopes for a better life for himself and his family in the United States. One of his cousins lives in the Liberian community in New York, takes on Cisco and helps him get a job as a cab driver. But what had begun so well ends somewhat tragically as the past catches up with Cisco. He bumps into Jacob, whom he had met earlier in his life. Both of them had once been child soldiers. "There are spirits," says Cisco, "who follow you - no matter where you go."

"Out of my Hand" is the first ever Liberian-American co-production. And it is the first film by Japanese filmmaker Takeshi Fukunaga, a resident of New York. He had to realize his international project on a very tight budget. But as Christoph Terhechte, director of the Berlinale’s Forum of New Cinema points out, small stories often come across more profoundly than trying to squeeze too much into a tale. Such stories are often told by independent directors who have little budget, who view themselves as artists rather than producers or technicians. That statement is confirmed by numerous notable examples presented at the Berlinale this year, amongst the "Panorama" and "Forum of New Cinema" sections.

Telephone warriors

In a small office in Tel Aviv, some women are working around the clock. Their “Hotline” for refugees and immigrants is a small NGO which supports illegal immigrants - all of them Africans - by informing them about their rights. For years, thousands of them make their way across the Sinai to Israel - a flow of people, not quite welcome in Israel. Each illegal border crossing is punishable as a crime. Those who are caught spend an average of one year in prison and additional prisons are constantly constructed along the Egyptian border. The documentary film "Hotline" tells their stories.

Filmmaker Silvina Landsmann has accompanied Hotline activists to a variety of locations such as the Knesset, as well as through a number of authorities and courts. The evidence she brings back - and features in the film - is both disturbing and moving.

Setting sail for a new life

Vladimir was lucky. He took to his new home immediately: a huge ship in the middle of Copenhagen called "Flotel Europa" - the subject of a documentary of the same name. The Danish Red Cross had established this emergency accommodation for about 1,000 war refugees from Bosnia and Herzegovina because all other shelters in the country were already full. That was in 1992. At that time Vladimir was 12 years old. Together with his mother and older brother he fled from Sarajevo and his family, hoping to start anew, had applied for asylum in Denmark. Their new life begins on the "Flotel Europa."

In order to convince Vladimir’s father and grandparents that one can live well in Denmark, the family, like many others at that time, regularly sent video messages to those who had stayed behind. Those messages were often short and mundane, like: “school is good, a Bosnian school, but soon maybe a Danish one, I have friends, we play soccer - we run around on the ship. It’s all about narrow cabins, shared kitchens, the TV room, dance, gymnastics and soccer groups."

Twenty years later, Vladimir Tomic has turned material from the countless video tapes into a remarkable piece of art - a so-called 'found footage film,' the purpose of which is not to document the plight of refugees, but to tell a coming-of-age story tinged with irony. It's the story of Vladimir, who is deeply in love with the unapproachable Melisa. He spends his time hanging around on the ship, admiring the legs of the receptionist and drinking his first beer with his friends. Is the outcome really a documentary? In any case, it is quite exciting and quite unique: a touching film that frees the refugee from his role as a victim and releases him with confidence in his own life. And Vladimir Tomic? He still lives in Copenhagen, has become a successful filmmaker and now a guest at the Berlinale - in both its darkened movie theaters as well as in its gleaming spotlight.