Berlin Sci-Fi Filmfest

Colour carries the concept and the logistics at once. The system runs on additive RGB, the native colour of screens, projectors and signal — the literal material Fritz now inhabits. Reassigning channels across a single composition produces a family that reads as one brand while generating real variation without new artwork, and the same rotation then codes the accreditation: Talent, Press, Guest and Staff each hold a channel, readable across a dark lobby at ten metres, which is what a badge is actually for. Against that motion the type stays blunt on purpose. A black bar, a hard grotesque, the name and the dates. In a composition this fractured the typography has to be the fixed architecture, the one plane the eye can hold while everything behind it disintegrates — and it means the brand still works with no image at all. Any identity that needs its hero asset to say anything quietly stops being used by month four.

The rest is built to be run, not admired. Stair-stepped checkers, barcode strips and channel blocks form a fabric that scales from a wristband to a stage backdrop and costs nothing to produce. The laurel is cut from the same grammar and proven at forty millimetres, because that's where it lives — on other people's posters and reels, carried outward by every selected film — and exists across the full RGB set plus white and black so it holds on any background a filmmaker picks. The title sequence completes the argument in time: the wordmark splits into its channels, drifts out of register, then snaps back as Fritz condenses out of the grid and disperses again, thirty times across a weekend, before thirty films. What results behaves like science fiction instead of illustrating it. Aggressive enough to hold a street. Simple enough that two people can run it for a year without opening a 3D file.