An ode to the unconventional: Anarcho Shorts at the 2025 goEast Festival of Central and Eastern European Film

Every year, the goEast Festival of Central and Eastern European Film includes in its rich programme a series of short films. Among them stands out the Anarcho Shorts collection, which is now a staple in the festival lineup, and which was once again featured in this year’s festival.

The goEast team describes the Anarcho Shorts as “unconventional and unusual,” and just reading the titles in the lineup gives a taste of what awaits the viewer — unaware of the chaotic bubble they’re about to burst simply by clicking “start film” on the screen. 

This year, the hour-long compilation featured eight short films from the Czech Republic, Montenegro, Poland, Serbia, Hungary, and Georgia. The selections ranged from bold, colorful animation to live-action, and from fiction to documentary.

The Stone of Destiny (2025), by Czech artist Julie Černá, is a dreamlike tale that leads us on a quest for freedom. Its protagonist embarks on the symbolic hero’s journey, driven by the desire to discover a higher meaning in life, inspired by an idol. This short film speaks of loneliness and the bittersweet comfort of remaining confined within the familiar, even when it feels constricting. Yet, it also celebrates the courage of chasing dreams and the relief that comes from realising that letting go is far less painful than holding on to something that doesn’t belong to us anymore. 

After the end credits of the first short, The Consul of Nowhereland (2023), by Montenegrin director Alex Milic, bursts in with a completely different style. The opening scene shows a man waving a huge Yugoslav flag from a balcony while singing the anthem, “Hej, Slaveni!”. In just six minutes, this mini‑documentary introduces us to the charismatic Marko Perković, the self‑proclaimed ambassador of the defunct Yugoslavia. As his voice proclaims the greatness of his beloved homeland (“Yugoslavia will be forever!”), we follow him through the streets of the small town of Tiva as discreet observers, and can’t help but feel a soft, melancholy warmth grow inside us. The direction skillfully balances irony with a poignant sense of the void and nostalgia left by the collapse of a collective dream.  

The third short is a return to symbolism: 3 MWh (2024) by Czech director Marie-Magdalena Kochová is the only performance-driven piece, and the one that stayed with me the most. Its plot is linear and spare. The protagonist, a lean, grizzled sixty-year-old, embodies these very traits. What struck me is that it is not the character who changes; rather, the viewer comes to know him minute by minute and gradually revises their judgment of him. What initially seems like a mere obsession with numbers ultimately reveals itself as the key to a broader understanding of life. A special mention must go to the cinematography by Kristina Kůlová: the eye is drawn to the smallest details, and the viewer finds themselves memorising each precise suggestion, as if under a gentle hypnosis. The finale is both brilliant and poetic: simply put, an ode to cycles and rebirth.

At this point, I noticed a clear divide between the first and second halves of the compilation. If you have made it this far, brace yourself for a roller-coaster of unsettling emotions, disorienting music, and pulp-style visuals. Martyr’s Guidebook (2023), by Polish director Maks Rzońtkowski, is structured in chapters, titled like religious commandments. In each of these sections, the director delves into scenarios of hyper-altruism, pushing the protagonist to extremes as he relentlessly prioritises others’ well-being, ultimately risking his own annihilation. 

The fifth short, The Body Dissolver (2023) by another Polish director, Dominik Ritszel, rides a deeply experimental wave: 3D animations, found footage, and images of the human body accompany interviews with boxers describing the sensation of being knocked out. This “out-of-body experience” becomes a prism for exploring larger themes, like the urge to escape reality and the use of narcotics. A soundscape of distorted voices and artificial noises, paired with a sterile, operating room-like setting, gradually builds a sense of claustrophobia in the viewer. Its Cronenberg-esque organicity makes the experience unsettling at times.

The closing shorts form a triad of sublime chaos.

Crack and the City (2023), by Serbian director Milana Trifunjagić, and 27 (2023), by Hungarian director Flóra Anna Buda, both animated, follow the challenges of young women as they navigate the city’s frantic pace, struggling with disillusionment and urban decay. A bold and pulp-infused cocktail through which the protagonists numb the anxiety of failing to find their place in an individualistic society.

To cap it all off, a visual, silent poem, representing to me the verge of chaos of this compilation: The more I zoom in on the image of the dogs, the clearer becomes they are related to the stars (2024) by Georgian director Alexandre Koberidze. Describing its “plot” would spoil the pleasure of experiencing these five minutes of hypnotic immersion. 

Watching a compilation of short films is an exercise in concentration, demanding from the viewer a constant openness and mental flexibility. The storytelling format constantly shifts: it feels like sitting by a fire while listening for an hour to tales from people who have nothing to do with one another. Pinpointing a single thread that binds these films is not easy. I find that the Anarcho Shorts collection invites slow, repeated viewings. In an age of rapid audiovisual consumption, it can be hard to rein in our appetite, to be satisfied with just ten minutes of footage and let what we’ve seen truly sink in. Yet, I believe that slowing down is not only advisable but almost mandatory for anyone who decides to immerse themselves in this series.

I would recommend Anarcho Shorts to anyone who likes to watch the end credits roll and ask themselves, “What did I just see?”. These films gifted me a thousand different emotions. The ones that spoke to me the most are those that delve into raw human frailty and nostalgia, especially 3 MWh and The Consul of Nowhereland.

The Anarcho Shorts collection was screened on 26 and 29 April as part of the 2025 goEast Festival of Central and Eastern European Film.