Melisa Aller

The empty place. Lost childhood. Light trees. Abandoned gardens. Motion without movement. A desert that make us think about where we are. As E. Cioran says, one hand over any landscape can make us return to the landscape of our childhood.

This film is a secret and also an offering. When we add our initials we are the closest thing to love, to teaching and to a certain greatness. We met in the worst year of our lives and somehow you chose to save me and I to adore you.

In a world where technological progress is conceived as an arrow pointing forward, why do some people insist on continuing to work with equipment others refer to as obsolete? Analog Thinking answers that question by documenting the meticulous work of those who choose that path. The screen becomes filled with wonderful objects—optical toys, cameras, projectors, film stock cans, moviolas… And the testimonies from those creators invite us to discover a universe that has a lot to do with both craftsmanship and the collective experience—an instance of thinking with your hands that is only possible with curiosity and patience. And among the words, practices and artifacts, Analog Thinking also saves a place for the images that are born from all of that. And it reminds us that, even in this digital age, they still have a lot to teach us about waiting and making mistakes, surprise and beauty.

A film based on the reports of children appropriated during the last civil-military dictatorship (1976-1983). To rest the look on a face was an impossible task. The glow of the memory swallowed everything. Dancing movements, calculated, but wrong.

Argentina achieved advances in the recognition of civil and political rights of LGBTI group. Including the Gender Identity Law (Law No. 26 743, enacted in 2012). These rights represent an advance on legal equality. However, there is still the challenge of social inclusion to the Trans community. And it is here where we find Kimby. She struggles in that universe. Sometimes she is working on the train or trying to work on sidewalk near the Retiro station selling sandwiches, candies, lighters or pairs of socks. And she travels every day in the San Martin and North Belgrano train in her act of daily survival. Without family and with just a friend, Mary, her permanent support, she spends days in the Capital. Among his odd jobs and his unrequited love, far from her beloved mountains of Cordoba, she dreams with a 'real job' and that married man, who she loves so much, he plays someday for her.

No insides and outsides. The margins do not exist. Constitución is an intensive burst which does not seek individuals and forms, but different speeds and slownesses. Immanence, distributing the affects, intensities: there is no difference between the artificial and the natural.

The city is transfigured, we are imperfect forms of atomic weight, there is only nocturnal intuition.

No description available.

As the days pass, they look at the possible future from a forgotten corner of Harlem, NY. The “American Way of Life” there fades, fades against the sun’s rays. Survival was stirred in silence. Time passes, the economy moves back and forth. Here there are no heroes or antiheroes. But they are still there, waiting, Raymond Carver would say, “We’re having a great time here. But I hope all will be revealed soon”.

The sublime charm (of commodity fetishism). Consumption that consumes us. Lightning in cages. And economic rationality creating monsters. You are surrounded in the backyard of things. No culture, no beauty, no universality. The wolves will die and the equality will be beauty.