NACH ZWEI STUNDEN WAREN ZEHN MINUTEN VERGANGEN
fictional short / 18'
2019
director Steffen Goldkamp
production
SPENGEMANN EICHBERG GOLDKAMP HANS
festivals
76th Venice International Film Festival, La Biennale di Venezia
42th Cinema du Reel
49th New Directors / New Films
32th Filmfest Dresden (Best National Short Film)
36th Hamburg International Film Festival
36th Kasseler Dokumentarfilm- und Videofest
17th Zagreb Film Festival
33th Leeds International Film Festival
20th Stockholm Film Festival Junior
38th International Film Festival of Uruguay
17th Dokumentarfilmwoche Hamburg
18th London International Shortfilm Festival
6th Pančevo International Film Festival (Best Editing Award)
12th Psarokokalo International Short Film Festival
49th Kiev Molodist International Film Festival
14th Kurzfilmfestival Kцln
62th Nordische Filmtage (CineStar Price)
10th Beijing International Short Film Festival
Eating, waiting, haircutting, cleaning, telephone- and bedtime. The perennial daily routine of a juvenile detention center brings about a clotting of time. Bodies are transformed into vehicles, lethargically moved from workshops to single-person cells, down hallways into outdoor areas, from armchair to couch. Nothing makes a difference. Breathing, walking, sitting, lying down again. Existence in a comatose state. The film observes this heterotopic cosmos, picturing a perpetual dissolution. It tells a story of bodies left behind, of an undefined longing. A longing for something different. For an outside so yonder that even the dreamers do not know any longer, if it has even ever existed as such.
NACH ZWEI STUNDEN WAREN ZEHN MINUTEN VERGANGEN
fictional short / 18'
2019
director Steffen Goldkamp
production
SPENGEMANN EICHBERG GOLDKAMP HANS
festivals
76th Venice International Film Festival, La Biennale di Venezia
Eating, waiting, haircutting, cleaning, telephone- and bedtime. The perennial daily routine of a juvenile detention center brings about a clotting of time. Bodies are transformed into vehicles, lethargically moved from workshops to single-person cells, down hallways into outdoor areas, from armchair to couch. Nothing makes a difference. Breathing, walking, sitting, lying down again. Existence in a comatose state. The film observes this heterotopic cosmos, picturing a perpetual dissolution. It tells a story of bodies left behind, of an undefined longing. A longing for something different. For an outside so yonder that even the dreamers do not know any longer, if it has even ever existed as such.