Nutshells

An older couple sits on a curb, joking around like teenagers. The object of their shared amusement is a tiny book. In Friedl vom Gröller’s cinematic miniature Das kleine Buch (The Little Book), this scene from her 2009 work Passage Briare serves as the introduction to a charming eulogy to reading and analog culture. The filmmaker requires only two book objects, two teenagers, and a few slow shots. The first shows a girl visibly engrossed in one of the books. The shot would almost seem to be a freeze-frame, were it not for the typical 16mm film lighting effects: flickering, changing shadows, and lighting conditions. Next, a boy gazes intently at two works of art on the wall for several moments before sinking into the sofa, his face hidden behind the covers of an oversized book.
The fact that the girl also uses a corded telephone and a typewriter underscores the director’s call for digital detox in a tongue-in-cheek yet unambiguous way.  

In her film trilogy Nutshells, Friedl vom Gröller uses small-scale productions such as this one and directed depictions of everyday life to offer commentary on the media-driven but also generally consumerist state of the world. The film presents resilience-building techniques such as slowness and the pleasure of reading, as well as a critical perspective on fast fashion and the immense overproduction it entails.  

In 1 €, 3 €, the second part of the trilogy, in her typical, carefree manner Friedl vom Gröller films the huge piles of clothing at the market in the Italian city of Pavia, which are rummaged through every day by crowds, then appraised, and repeatedly folded back up again by the vendors. The narrative’s absurd climax is an argument between two young women over one of the thousands of tops whose sale price jumped from €1 to €3 within a week.  

In the third film, Veronique, the filmmaker’s predilection for female portraits and her sense of perfect timing come together once again: she films the interior of the eponymous hair salon, whose clutter has grown over the years, and the three women who have worked there, always dressed in white. In mid-2025, the salon went out of business. What remains are the shots of the porcelain-like faces Friedl vom Gröller stares at until, behind small changes in facial expression and their gazes back at the camera, we begin to discern a shift from pose to personality. (Christa Benzer)