“I still can't figure out if it's an office, a market place, or a boxing ring. And maybe I don't even need to.”

– Vittoria

– Why so grumpy? – I'm starved! Dinner is always late!

A man murders another and meets a drunk sailor. The drunk then tells the murderer about his life on the sea. Les trois couronnes du matelot is of course never a straightforward crime film. It's Raúl Ruiz, it never is.

“I got nothing out of this crime except the ring he offered me many times; several hundred marks; a collection of old coins, of no value; and a long letter where he advised me to leave the country.”

– the student

The sailor drinks, celebrates and mourns the women and men of his past, we all get drunk on life while the dark water closes itself again above our heads.

Grauzone takes place in one of the three spaces documented in Murer's beautifully titled documentary Wir Bergler in den Bergen sind eigentlich nicht schuld, daß wir da sind [We, the mountain people, who live in the mountains are not really to blame for being there] (1974). One valley lives in tune with its natural rhythm, the second experiences a transition to modernity.

Sie fallen unerwartet in einem traumlosen Schlaf.

The third space, the “grey zone” – both this film's title and a descriptive term for an undefined neutral zone – is where the Bergler have become technology dwellers, where they live on summits made of concrete instead of rock. Where rumours about a #pandemic stir an ancient, unnamed fear. And symptoms: the sudden urge to wander out in nature, an acute melancholy, an overall hyper awareness. A young, prosperous couple become infected and pick up secret radio transmissions. What they believed was concrete, solid, immovable, suddenly shows signs of a shift.

A bridge to celebrate the 1937 Golden Gate Bridge opening.

“Here I was born, and there I died. It was only a moment for you; you took no notice.”

– We're out of love potion. What now?

– Take this one, for colic and bunions. What matters is how the bottle looks and how the potion tastes.

A strange man arrives at neurosurgeon Dr Max Holst's #hospital one day. So strange in fact that he's promptly send to the psychiatric ward. This man, a Mr Steinmetz, insists on the doctor's help. He can materialise things – look see here's a cigar – but living things is what he wants. This bird, it died. Can the doctor help? No no, not the bird, the brain! Steinmetz has set up a theatre in his home, it can be done there. While the doctor, however tempted, refuses, Steinmetz evolves.

“We are now entering the century of the soul!”

– Steinmetz

Manden der tænkte ting intrigues in its clinical monotonous settings, its pale late-60s stock, and precise composition. Early Cronenberg – Stereo (Tile 3B of a CAEE Educational Mosaic) (1969) and Crimes of the Future (1970) – comes to mind and, of course Lars von Trier's majestic Riget [The Kingdom] (1994 – 2022). But only Jens Ravn mastered this strangling lightness. Slowly, while you count backwards. Now you no longer feel the straps. 10… 9… …