Zurück aus dem Reich, welch Glück.    . Frío en Colombia (2015), is a fragmented and tenuous reenactment of a filmic artifact long repressed within the annals of Colombian cinema: Kalt in Kolumbien, a 1985 German-Colombian production that resulted in the deaths of director Dieter Schidor and producer Víctor Nieto Jr., who was also, at the time, the director of the Cartagena Film Festival founded by his father. (1) Shrouded by a legacy of tragedy and shame, the film premiered at the 1985 Toronto Film Festival and was screened the following year at the Berlinale, but was eventually banished by a Kafkaesque German bureaucracy to an archive in Hamburg where to this day it remains legally trapped awaiting a postmortem authorization for its distribution. The only available copy is a heavily deteriorated videotape retained by Marcel Odenbach—a pioneering German video artist who portrayed a fictionalized version of himself in the film—and digitalized by Ana María Millán to serve as the primary source material for her adaptation. It is then almost impossible to determine the aesthetic merit of the original, which looks like a weird mixture between a shoddy low-budget B movie and experimental 1970s video art, although such an assessment is…

Lost Souls “The world is Beautiful. And that is very sad.” Stanilslaw Jerzy Lec . The landscape darken, there is fog, only the sound of some ravens cawing remains in the atmosphere. On the background, one or two storms; the black t-shirts, the black trainers, the black mouths, the black nails, black jeans, the black ice, other black textures; all clothes smell of death because they were buried weeks before and unearth the day of the show. There is such drama, such theatricality, that it is almost impossible not to feel that one is burned inside by tenderness. Because when the sinister and the obscure exceed their means, they become amusing messengers of innocence. All of that that appears so macabre and so sordid also reminds a certain infantile primary fear. Fear of the forest and its creatures, the landscape that is no more the city, that is endless hence not measurable generate in us, urban inhabitants, an adolescent attraction. We go every now and then with our tents and torches and play to survive in the night, feel scared of slight noises we no longer understand, of insects and promises of a wild life. We are not prepared for…