In Limbo offers a poignant portrayal of how war's extraordinary intrusion coexists with everyday life. Director Arina Maksimenko opens with a deceptively peaceful scene: herself recuperating from surgery in a sunlit room, her cat nearby. Yet, broken windows and people in motion outside hint at underlying turmoil. As Maksimenko moves in with her parents, the film documents their seemingly ordinary routines—sharing meals, washing dishes, tending to abandoned pets—set against the backdrop of Russian aggression in Ukraine. Rather than explicitly denouncing the horrors of war, the documentary subtly reveals how creeping conflict disrupts daily life. The elderly couple's existence gradually fractures as gunfire nears, leaving them in limbo—uncertain whether to flee or stay. This state of indecision, evoked by the title, recalls Dante's depiction of limbo as the first circle of hell. Without showing any battle scenes, In Limbo exposes war's insidious effects on domestic tranquility. It is a family narrative more chilling than conventional war films, highlighting the precarious balance between normalcy and upheaval in conflict zones, and offering a unique perspective on war's human cost.

An indigenous elder from the Watorik-i community says, “You can filme me here, but are you really going to be our ally?” This question connects to one that co-directors Eryk Rocha and Gabriela Carneiro da Cunha had been asking themselves throughout the shoot. The Falling Sky is a documentary about the struggle to defend the Watorik-i community in the Brazilian Amazon. The film opens with a haunting long take of the community, led by tribal shaman Davi Kopenawa, slowly walking toward the camera with firearms, bows, and bundles. Visually sophisticated and formally rigorous, the film deftly mixes a collage of monologues, daily indigenous activities, and observational shots that refrain from exposition, outlining the human connection to the natural ecosystem. The sound design, featuring immersive natural ambient sound, contributes to the authenticity of the film's portrayal of the primal world. The film's refusal to edit or censor opinions or dialogues, and its strategy of juxtaposing night skies and natural landscapes while reflecting the indigenous worldview, highlights the crisis of a world threatened by civilization's encroachment, such as miners coming in for development. In this film, motivated by an anti-European and anti-colonial voice, director Eryk Rocha continues the legacy of his father Glauber Rocha, a mythical figure of Third World post-colonial cinema, breaking down the dualism between human and nature.

The film opens with nostalgic home videos of the director's family, presenting an image of domestic harmony. As the narrative unfolds, it reveals the complexities beneath these recorded moments. The director's grandmother, viewing these old videos in the present, recalls memories not captured on film—unveiling life beyond the frame. Masterfully juxtaposing past and present, the film contrasts the happiness in home videos with undocumented domestic violence. This tension is emphasized through the interplay of grainy 8mm footage and contemporary reflections, reminding us of history's multifaceted nature. The documentary transforms records, testimony, and truth into a nuanced psychological exploration. It transcends family history, giving voice to the often invisible issue of ongoing domestic violence in society. This thought-provoking work challenges viewers to consider the disparity between recorded memories and lived experiences, offering a compelling meditation on family, memory, and the stories we choose to tell—or leave untold. The film's title Home Sweet Home, revealed at its conclusion, adds an intriguing layer to this exploration.​

Set against the UK's third pandemic lockdown, actors Sam and Mark find an unlikely stage within the virtual world of Grand Theft Auto Online. Amidst the game's chaotic crime-ridden streets, they discover a virtual theater and embark on a production of Shakespeare's "Hamlet," inviting a seasoned director, new to the game, to document their endeavor. In this digital world where violence is commonplace, performing "Hamlet" becomes both absurd and precarious. The performance faces constant disruption from gamers and a multilingual audience, transforming the existential "to be or not to be" into a practical "to play or not to play." This experimental film, shot entirely within the game, features in-game avatars as actors, blurring the lines between gaming, theater, and cinema. It injects theatricality into gameplay while reflecting real-world anxieties in a virtual setting. The result is a mix of humor, hope, and profound emotion. The film acknowledges the complex relationship between online and offline worlds. It recognizes the virtual realm's artistic potential while remaining grounded in physical reality. Importantly, it maintains a critical awareness that theater, gaming, and cinema, despite their convergence here, are distinct forms of expression.

In April 1980, the mining town of Sabuk in Jeongseon County, Gangwon Province, erupted in protest as miners and residents rose up against wage exploitation and human rights abuses. This uprising, occurring just one month before the more widely known Gwangju Uprising, has largely been overshadowed in historical narratives. The demonstrators quickly became targets of brutal suppression by police and martial law forces, enduring months of relentless violence—a trauma for which no official apology or restitution has been offered to this day. Director PARK Bong-nam, renowned for his incisive and politically charged documentaries that resonate with both Korean and international audiences, meticulously reconstructs this pivotal yet often overlooked event in modern Korean history. Through extensive interviews and thorough research, PARK illuminates the harsh realities of the miners' lives under oppressive working conditions, while exposing the barbaric state violence that unjustly branded these workers as rioters. 1980 Sabuk not only condemns the atrocities committed by the state but also explores ongoing efforts to heal wounds that remain raw decades later. The film explores the controversies surrounding spontaneous acts of private violence during the uprising, as well as attempts by some involved parties to accept responsibility and offer apologies. While the state—the primary perpetrator of these injustices—maintains its silence, 1980 Sabuk invites viewers on a journey of reflection. It challenges us to confront the scars of history and learn from past transgressions, urging a collective vigilance to prevent such events from recurring.

The film chronicles the daily life of Choi Hyeonsam, who returns to his hometown to care for his mother suffering from dementia. The catalyst for this return was the simultaneous diagnosis of both his parents with dementia a few years prior. In response, Choi establishes a care labor company in their rural village, which is predominantly populated by the elderly. This company, rooted in the agricultural lifestyle his parents have known all their lives, aims to provide care that respects their familiar life patterns. While the film ostensibly focuses on Choi's work and the operations of the care labor company, its true heart lies in the portrayal of Choi's mother. She emerges as both muse and villain, central to the company's existence. The film explores the nuanced interactions between Choi and his mother, whose words and actions reflect a lifetime of experiences and her aspirations for her son. Despite her memory loss, her body instinctively recalls the rhythms of farming and preparing meals for her son. Choi's efforts to care for her as a middle-aged son offer a profound awakening to the nature of life.

Bitter Cells chronicles the director's dual journey following her ovarian cancer diagnosis. One path leads her to connect with others who share same diagnosis or have survived it, while the other involves the delicate process of preparing to inform her unsuspecting mother. These parallel narratives converge through the director's compelling efforts to illuminate the complex story of women's bodies and illness. This documentary offers a powerful lens through which we witness the prejudices and oppression that women and their bodies endure in everyday life. Simultaneously, it captures extraordinary moments of sisterhood, where women find solace and understanding in each other's experiences. The director's ability to seamlessly interweave these two narratives within a concise runtime is a testament to her remarkable talent and authenticity. Scenes that depict conversations with others as if they were face-to-face with herself are particularly striking and leave a lasting impression.

The Latin term Conatus, often translated as "effort" or "striving," is most notably associated with Spinoza, who defines it as the endeavor by which an entity strives to persist in its being. This concept, exploring one's essential virtues and desires, contrasts sharply with contemporary notions of self-improvement that often involve self-denial and blind pursuit of progress. CONATUS, director Oh Jaehyeong's latest work, embodies this concept through its protagonist, Soyoung, a dancer with a disability preparing for a stage performance. For Soyoung, success isn't measured through comparison or competition, but by confronting her own body and following her heart's dictates. The film skillfully interweaves scenes of rigorous practice, performance euphoria, and daily challenges, including self-recorded footage from Soyoung. This sincere effort to observe another's struggles and aspirations with an open, egalitarian perspective not only pays tribute to a young artist but also offers a critique of Korean society's fixation on self-improvement discourse. During the DMZ International Documentary Film Festival, a barrier-free version, created by the production team, will also be screened, further emphasizing the film's commitment to accessibility and inclusivity.

This film follows Mieke, a Korean adoptee raised in the Netherlands, but it deviates significantly from the traditional adoption narrative. Instead of focusing on Mieke's search for her Korean birth parents, the story begins with her Korean parents(who placed her up for adoption) seeking Mieke(then named Mi-ok) out. Unlike typical adoption narratives, it is Mieke who finds herself distant and wary of the parents seeking her out. The film reveals that Mieke was born as the fourth daughter to a family desperate for a son. Her parents had already had three daughters and gave birth to Mieke in hopes of finally having a male heir, only for her to be abandoned by her paternal grandparents due to this son preference. Despite this abandonment, Mieke has forged her identity as a queer woman in the Netherlands, finding stability with her current partner. The film chronicles Mieke's visit to her Korean parents and her attempts to communicate across vast barriers of language, emotion, culture, family dynamics, and sexual identity. It explores how these differences intersect and how people strive to connect across these divides in the name of family. The portrayal of the complex, yet typical, maternal figure of a Korean mother prompts deep reflection. As the narrative unfolds, the focus shifts from adoption to a broader exploration of the meaning of family. Director Jota Mun, an adoptee themself, employs a nuanced and sensitive approach in depicting Mieke and her family, crafting a narrative that adds new dimensions to the adoption story.

In April 1980, the mining town of Sabuk in Jeongseon County, Gangwon Province, erupted in protest as miners and residents rose up against wage exploitation and human rights abuses. This uprising, occurring just one month before the more widely known Gwangju Uprising, has largely been overshadowed in historical narratives. The demonstrators quickly became targets of brutal suppression by police and martial law forces, enduring months of relentless violence—a trauma for which no official apology or restitution has been offered to this day. Director PARK Bong-nam, renowned for his incisive and politically charged documentaries that resonate with both Korean and international audiences, meticulously reconstructs this pivotal yet often overlooked event in modern Korean history. Through extensive interviews and thorough research, PARK illuminates the harsh realities of the miners' lives under oppressive working conditions, while exposing the barbaric state violence that unjustly branded these workers as rioters. 1980 Sabuk not only condemns the atrocities committed by the state but also explores ongoing efforts to heal wounds that remain raw decades later. The film explores the controversies surrounding spontaneous acts of private violence during the uprising, as well as attempts by some involved parties to accept responsibility and offer apologies. While the state—the primary perpetrator of these injustices—maintains its silence, 1980 Sabuk invites viewers on a journey of reflection. It challenges us to confront the scars of history and learn from past transgressions, urging a collective vigilance to prevent such events from recurring.