The theme of this program is hookup films — stories of young men and women in the city, some by chance, others by design. Each work carries a strong sense of space: homes, subways, laundromats, saunas — online and offline, full of contemporary texture. Sex is the desire to live; when facing death, I feel small, and each night becomes a luxury. At some point, I stopped saying “forever” and began saying “the rest of my life,” though what remains may be only tonight. In one scene, he asks, “Why do you make films?” She answers, “Because I like it.” Because I like it — that’s how simple the reason is for this generation.
The word daisy originates from the Old English dægeseage — the "day’s eye." Following the rhythm of light, they open and close, standing as a worldly symbol of innocence and hope. This curation, however, focuses on those forms of life that refuse to close in the darkness. They navigate the liminal spaces between collapse and rebirth, bondage and freedom, fragility and madness. When the light of hope as defined by the world fades, they bloom with a defiant, crimson hue. As the "day’s eye" shuts, the red daisy begins its journey to find its own light within the cracks.
Everything changes; the only constant is change itself. Young people who encounter life-altering upheavals face life and death, joy and sorrow. At life’s turning points, the choices they make reveal who these protagonists truly are. Within these stories, we may see reflections of ourselves—or find lives far removed from our own. Yet they always help us understand one another, allowing us, over ten to a few dozen minutes, to experience, grow, and comfort each other together. In a world of ever-shifting circumstances, perhaps cinema is a faithful companion that walks alongside us.
“If a person stays in a place long enough, part of their soul will remain there.” These words, spoken by the protagonist of my documentary, not only profoundly shaped the way I see my hometown and the places where I grew up, but also became a kind of revelation. I used to fear that these places would become unfamiliar, or even disappear entirely. Yet this sentence taught me how to look gently at disappearance and loss. The films in this program gaze upon living, breathing lives, observing how each person leaves a part of their soul in the places where they have lived, wandered, or stayed.
Cyclone
In Memory of The Chinatown
Between the Stars and Waves
Oh, the allure of looking back and reminiscing for better days gone by… Nostalgia develops in us sentimental creatures for a multitude of reasons, be it dissatisfaction of the present, an impending doom for the future, or the painful realisation of past mistakes. The most poignant form of nostalgia materialises when the present has passed the point of no return. Force majeure and the ones that got away. Films on the list captured distinct era in the personal or societal past, that shine light on our inescapable present, for better or worse. Might we become better beings when we come out from the other side. “If we should weep when clowns put on their show, If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so.” If I Could Tell You - W.H. Auden
Dream in Silence
The Edge of Night
KJ: Music and Life
Grandma's Hairpin
Before the Box Gets Emptied
The Sea Within
Su Beng, the Revolutionist
The surreal often emerges from everyday life. The rituals, urban legends, and folk beliefs in this selection may appear as distant as myths, yet they are deeply embedded in our daily experience, touching the most potent emotions and sense of awe within us. I have always believed that the surreal is not the strangeness of the external world, but an enlargement of what lies within. Between the mysterious and the mundane, the landscapes of Asia give rise to their own authentic and singular tales. These films move through the cracks between reality and myth, illuminating the subtle, ineffable connections between people and the world, between faith and the void.
The Poison Cat
Dayang Bersiong - The Sinful Cook
The Walkers
One to Ten
Lately I have been exploring ways to steal time, so I started keeping a daily journal and writing more songs. I also find myself exchanging my own time more often, half an hour, an hour, sometimes two, to trade for the time captured, extended, and created through images. In this way, the time of others becomes my own. I am grateful to these works for raising many questions. For example, as Kara Jackson sings, “why does the earth give us people to love?” I still do not have an answer.
And Miles to Go Before I Sleep
One Summer's Day
For women, to live as full human beings in this world has never been easy. In these stories, women are placed within multiple roles: daughters-in-law, mothers, job seekers, and migrant brides within transnational contexts. Between bodily experience, childbirth, and the question of staying or leaving, they struggle between trauma recovery and life choices, while also being seen and expected within structures of power. They are expected to embody contradictory ideals: to be both desirable bodies and symbols of purity; to conform to norms while pursuing ideals. Within structures shaped by violence, sexual harassment, and entrenched misogyny, they continue to resist within bodies that are constantly constrained, seeking possibilities of freedom and rebirth. Their lives unfold like flowers in bloom. The Blood of a Hen and The River of White Porcelain may respond, through image, to the complexity of these predicaments, and open up alternative ways of seeing and understanding women’s experiences.
To journey inward is to confront the most truthful state of life through one’s own actions. Through days marked by both sorrow and joy, we are prompted to listen and respond to the voice within. In doing so, we gradually come to understand our own value and the place we hold in life.
Hayao Miyazaki and the Heron
Master Sheng Yen
Dancing Home
Sometimes, you’re drawn back to the scene by an unseen force—treading carefully, almost fearfully. The crime scenes where bloodstains have long been washed away, the streets where fervent slogans have faded, and the lives forever frozen in a single moment of history—all compel creators to pick up the pen, to lift the camera, and to tell their stories in countless ways. Rooted in reality, the act of creation becomes a delicate balance. Is it a faithful record, an excavation of truth? A transformation of reality? Or a search for meaning in the present? Imagination may run wild, but what is the thread that keeps pulling him back—again and again—to the real?
March: The Southern South
Noname Square
Taste of Wild Tomato
Nine Shots
