KINO PALAIS AND THE YEAR I FELL BACK IN LOVE WITH CINEMA

I’ve known Germán since 2009, and Kino Palais (now located at the Casa Nacional del Bicentenario) was always his nervous system. His fire, his game, and in a way, our shared complicity. Because while Germán and I will always be connected by vinyl records, his son who is my nephew, a tenderness for cats, and the Villa Mitre neighborhood, above all else, it’s cinema that binds us. But not cinema from a film-geek perspective (I’m an outsider to that species), but rather from a vulnerable, hands-on, and community-driven lens.

To step into independent cinema is to pretend to be men merging their shadows over the Sumida River (Wim Wenders), a blue-clad Lucrecia Martel shattering glasses under the scorching Salta sun, and Isabella Rossellini directing The Saddest Music in the World contest on her draft-beer legs (Guy Maddin). Independent cinema is also the mystique of Kino Palais: it’s a gathering circle, and it’s an experiment. And in this year when I re-encountered this love, I wanted to close it out by chatting with Germán about the refuge Kino represents for alternative souls.

From Buenos Aires to the world.

Hi Germán! Can you tell us what Kino Palais is, and if there’s a leitmotif that defines the heart of the space and project?

Kino Palais (@kinopalais) is an alternative space dedicated to cinema and disciplines linked to the audiovisual universe, exploring diverse perspectives ranging from experimental to independent film. Its programming encompasses auteur cinema, creative documentaries, and video art.

Recently, we’ve expanded into the performing arts, becoming a venue and co-producer for performances where visual elements step back to make room for more sensory experiences. This includes performative installations, readings, and events where the lived experience takes precedence over traditional narrative.

Since 2018, we’ve been based at the Casa Nacional del Bicentenario. Being a state-run space, all of our activities are free and open to the public.

“I’m pleasantly surprised by how more and more people are actively seeking experiences in cinema halls, theaters, or performances—not just to watch, but to feel.” — Germán Fernández

How did Kino Palais come to be?

The project started in 2008 through Rubén Guzmán. As a filmmaker, he was deeply involved in the world of experimental cinema and wanted a place to foster this kind of film. Before Kino Palais, the space at the Palais de Glace operated as an INCAA venue, and the original idea was to make a radical shift and not limit ourselves strictly to national film.

How does the team work, and what is your role? What other projects do you collaborate with?

Currently, there are two of us. José Ludovico is more connected to national cinema, working as a programmer for several festivals across the country. He’s the one who knows and sees everything happening on the festival circuit before it gets released. I’m responsible for organizing and managing everything related to experimental cinema, and primarily international films.

How is December treating you?

We’re very happy. Great things always happen at the end of the year. We were one of the venues for the first edition of the Infinito Super 8 festival, which hosted an open community workshop, followed by a showcase of the finished projects. The festival is organized by friends who have been working with physical film formats for years.

We also took part in Primavera Noise, a noise and drone music festival, where we screened three documentaries on the subject. And we’re closing out the year with a festival called Light Matter, based in Alfred, New York. We’ve hosted it twice before, making this our third edition—and it’s worth noting that it’s completely free. It’s fantastic because it focuses on new technologies in experimental cinema, presented across many formats and from all over the world. Its director and curator, James Hansen, will be here in person to present it.

What new things did 2024 bring for you?

We’re expanding our offerings toward audiovisual works that transcend traditional cinema. Recently, we embarked on a co-production that wasn’t film in the strict sense, but rather a performative installation titled Una boca de memoria (A Mouth of Memory). Created by Sandy Pauli, a German artist who has lived in Argentina for years, the work explores the diaries of her grandmother, who lived through the occupation of Berlin in World War II. The project was developed collaboratively between Pauli’s team—featuring actors, live music, and sound and textile installations—and us, providing the necessary resources to complete and assemble the piece. The run was a huge success, and it’s already scheduled to return next year before touring other cultural spaces.

This year we also introduced new initiatives, such as the Tesoro series, which featured works in a hybrid format between fiction and documentary, accompanied by readings of production journals that offered rare insight into the creative process.

Uruguayan artist Guillermo Amato also came to present El Vacío Espléndido (The Splendid Void), a video essay constructed from multiple visual and sound fragments made in collaboration with several artists.

One milestone we’re most proud of was our tribute to Narcisa Hirsch, the mother of Argentine experimental cinema, who passed away in May at age 95. In collaboration with Macarena Cordiviola, we organized a series dedicated to her work. We didn't just revisit her fundamental pieces; we also invited her collaborators to dive deep into her legacy and offer the public a unique window into her creative universe.

What plans do you have for next year?

There are series we want to bring back due to the strong interest they generated. One of them is Un lugar en que nunca estuvié (A Place I’ve Never Been), which showcases documentaries about unexpected corners of the world and the fascinating stories or figures that viewers discover through cinema. In 2024, the series included works from Greece, Montenegro, Siberia, and the Sahara Desert, and it had a fantastic reception.

We will also continue to support Argentine cinema, which is going through a very severe crisis—not only regarding INCAA funding support, but also due to a major crisis in film distribution and exhibition. Independent screens and circuits are disappearing. We rely on a network of acquaintances who organize screenings and film cycles, like La Nave de los Sueños and the film space at the Conti Cultural Center, with whom we share information and programming.

Production companies desperately need places to project their work. They pass films to us because they feel an urgent need for the movie to be shown on a real screen with a live audience. Unfortunately, films have a limited theatrical shelf life. We obviously feel a responsibility to present as much as we can; we can’t always satisfy every demand, but this is the cinema we prioritize.

What reflections can you share regarding new cinema and music?

We live in an age where everything moves at a dizzying speed. There’s a tendency to consume cinema and music almost instantaneously, as if there were an urgency not to be left out of what’s currently trending. It’s as if this content carries an expiration date dictated by fashion, losing its relevance if it isn't enjoyed at the exact right moment or if you miss out on the current conversation. That’s why it’s always good to revisit works from the past—or even the recent past.

What are your thoughts on new technologies and cinema?

Despite the constant bombardment of images and stimuli coming from screens, advertising, and social media, the physical cinema hall seems to be regaining its place as an artistic refuge. I’m pleasantly surprised by how more and more people are actively seeking experiences in cinema halls, theaters, or performances—not just to watch, but to feel.

While streaming platforms dominate mass consumption, their catalogs are largely limited to commercial cinema, with rare exceptions for festival films. One thing about cinema is that even when we all know a certain movie will land on a streaming platform in two months, everyone still wants to experience it in a theater first. More and more viewers are beginning to value the irreplaceable experience of attending a live cultural event, where the emotional and sensory connection is unmatched.

If money and politics weren’t obstacles, what do you dream for Kino’s future? Limits off—delirium and science fiction allowed.

Without reaching for an impossible ideal, but reflecting on our current reality, we believe it doesn't take that much to keep growing. We would love for our space to become a fertile ground for workshops and the development of creative projects, centered on exchanging ideas and artistic experimentation—something we used to do in the past.

We would also love to have more screening days and events, though that doesn't depend solely on our initiative. The key lies in having the necessary human resources to generate and support these activities.

Another pending debt is producing content and archives documenting the artists who have passed through here. In 2023, using our 15th anniversary as an opportunity, we were able to conduct interviews with several artists (links below).

It’s December and I’m getting sentimental. Any words of encouragement or inspiration for audiovisual workers who had a tough year?

As for cinema, we have to weather this crisis and wait for the return of development and production policies for our national cinema. There is still much to recover and fight for, but in the end, that is what keeps us alive. Though it might sound like a cliché, cinema is a fundamental, defining part of our national culture. They won't be able to turn off the lights that easily.

Anything else you’d like to add?

You can follow us on our social media, @kinopalais, and we are always open to anyone who wants to reach out, chat, share ideas, or propose projects. Our space is open to collaboration and exchange.