“Do you think you are ever going back?” This is one of the few sentences in Julian Schwandner’s mainly introverted document, Anamesa. The setting, a Greek island, is also the main character of this visual diary. Several people meet on the island; among them are the dancers Maria and Markos and the filmmaker Julian himself. Maria and Julian live on the island sporadically. They consider the island an artistic safe space where they can find peace and inspiration. Markos, who was born here, desperately wants to leave. All three long for summer, bound together by a shared melancholy at the end of a season that marks the end of their time together.

Anamesa, in Greek, means ‘between’ or ‘in the middle.’ The island, as a liminal space, symbolises transition: between water and mainland, between rest and action, between identity and freedom. Schwandner captures moments of connection between the island residents and draws striking parallels, from Maria’s body control during a workout to Markos’ calibrated combat movements. Schwandner himself manoeuvres between the characters as a common denominator.

We don’t really find out what the filmmaker means by “His father didn’t give me much, but he gave me this place”. Has he been coming to this place for a long time, like Maria? Or is it just a home he now takes care of? And what about the archival footage of the excavations? Schwander's work lingers somewhat aimlessly, indulging the vibe of beautiful summer leisure, freedom, and togetherness. Without giving us more insight into the specific feelings of his characters, the film remains stuck... in the middle.