What if you’ve been watching films all wrong?

In an era defined by endless scrolling and fractured attention, film critic and broadcaster Ashanti Omkar poses a disquieting question: what do we lose when we no longer truly watch?

In this DT500 MAG LONDON DISPATCH conversation, she reframes cinema as more than entertainment — as a form of philosophy, empathy, and heightened perception. From the enduring cultural impact of *The Matrix* to the evolving role of film festivals, criticism, and global storytelling, Omkar explores how cinema continues to shape the way we understand ourselves and the world around us.

At its heart, this is a reflection on attention itself — and on why the most powerful films still ask for something increasingly rare: the willingness to slow down, and really see.

A quietly devastating portrait of invisible labour, ageing, and dignity, The Janitor transforms one elderly school caretaker into a universal symbol of the care economy societies depend on but rarely reward. Restrained, deeply humane, and politically astute, it arrives at precisely the moment Britain, Europe, and much of the world can no longer afford to ignore who keeps public life running.

WHITENESS is a 105-minute multi-form cinematic work premiering at Raindance Film Festival 2026. Conceived by Alessio Cappelletti, the film fuses narrative fiction, archival propaganda, animation, satire, and Southern Gothic horror into a single destabilised structure.
Rather than telling a unified story, it unfolds as four formal collisions—each revealing how images construct, distort, and reassemble historical truth.
From upper-class satire (And That’s That), to WWII propaganda (Teamwork), to banned racist animation (Scrub Me Mama With a Boogie Beat), and culminating in Southern Gothic horror (Wretched Earth), the film traces how ideology survives through repetition, aesthetic framing, and cultural memory.
Ambitious, fractured, and deliberately unstable, WHITENESS rejects narrative closure in favour of structural tension, positioning itself as one of the most formally radical selections at Raindance 2026.

Camilla Luna doesn’t chase the algorithm. She outruns it.
In a culture obsessed with trends, metrics and disposable virality, the Oslo artist has spent decades moving at a slower, deeper frequency. For her, the underground was never a look — it was a way of seeing. Curious. Unguarded. Allergic to the safe zone.
While electronic music gets louder and “vulnerability” becomes just another aesthetic, Luna keeps making work that still risks feeling something real. From the smoke-thick rooms of early Oslo to the intimate charge of Open Up, her music refuses the mask.This is not a nostalgia story.
It’s a quiet argument for honesty in a moment that keeps forgetting what that actually costs.

Berlin does not blush. It sweats, stares and keeps the lights low.
During FOLSOM Europe, leather, desire and queer nightlife spill into the streets, turning Berlin into something darker, closer and impossible to experience from a safe distance. Through Andreas Rød’s BÖSE BUBEN, the city emerges in flashes of skin, sweat, shadow and intimacy.
This is not simply a story about a festival. It is a journey into queer Berlin — where clothing becomes language, desire becomes atmosphere, and being seen can feel unexpectedly liberating.
A cinematic travel story about sexuality, freedom and the thrill of losing yourself in a city that has never been particularly interested in behaving.
Come for FOLSOM. Stay for the feeling.

Beyond Visibility
As Viviane D’Avilla’s Let Us Be premieres at Raindance, intersex activist and author Hida Viloria challenges cinema to do more than show — it must truly see. Spanning continents and a decade of quiet persistence, the film refuses easy answers or sentimental framing, instead building a collective, deeply human portrait of lives long reduced to medical narratives.

BØSE BUBEN drops into Berlin’s queer nightlife where documentary photography stops behaving and starts participating. Between sweat, bass, and half-lit bodies, Andreas Rød’s lens and Arthur Sopin’s framing capture intimacy as instability — desire without explanation, identity without closure. Part Nan Goldin tenderness, part Berlin industrial edge, the work refuses clean narrative in favour of contact, friction, and fleeting exposure. Nothing is staged for comfort. Everything is held long enough to feel real — and slightly out of control.

NO, IT IS NOT; NOT, ALWAYS examines the quiet collapse of documentary photography’s authority.
Working through DT500 Magazine, Arthur Sopin and Andreas Rød reject the fantasy of the neutral observer. Their images occupy the uncomfortable ground between intimacy and performance, consent and construction, proximity and fatigue.
In a culture that has perfected attention without understanding, the exhibition proposes something unfashionable: sustained looking — the kind that lingers long enough to become uncomfortable.

An exhibition of photographs that refuse resolution. Inspired by Wallace’s infinite key ring, each image is a deliberate attempt rather than a perfected answer—testing failure, light, and meaning in real time. Nothing here unlocks easily, and that’s precisely the point: photography as restless inquiry, where getting it “wrong” is the only way of getting anywhere at all.

Jo Bentdal’s Common Sensibility treats photography as a pressure system rather than a document—where images refuse resolution, meaning is delayed, and perception itself becomes unstable. Positioned between physics, philosophy, and contemporary image culture, the work dismantles the expectation that photographs should explain the world, insisting instead on a slower, more unsettling form of looking.

Stefan has spent a lifetime looking at the world through the frame of a camera—but insists photography was never really about images. It was always about questions. In this wide-ranging conversation, the veteran photojournalist reflects on philosophy, technology and the unsettling speed at which truth itself is being rewritten. From the ethics of artificial intelligence to the fragility of perception in an image-saturated age, he argues that the real crisis is not information overload, but the erosion of critical thinking. Neither utopian nor dystopian, his view of the future is disarmingly simple: technology is neutral—people are not.