As they decide what to do with the gaping hole in Lower Manhattan, urban planners might weigh Hubertus Siegert’s Berlin Babylon, an engrossing look at the development of the empty space left after the Berlin Wall’s collapse. Indeed, it’s hard not to think of New York when presented with the epigraph relating the destruction of Nebuchadnezzar’s Tower of Babylon or the soundtrack from German industrial act Einstürzende Neubauten ("collapsing new buildings"). The dilemma here is how to redefine the skyline of a changed city. We eavesdrop on a host of designers and planners (some are renowned, but even Rem Koolhaas and I.M. Pei are ID’d only as "architect") as they debate whether to "give Berlin a new look or keep with the architectural tradition." One of them sees the need to "overcome the dreariness . . . create open spaces." Another wants to "incorporate the existing milieu." Babylon counteracts technical dialogue with its visuals: striking aerials, cameras wending through deserted streets, sweeping panoramas of dilapidated buildings and vacant lots. Especially terrific is footage of workers who look to be traversing the geometric expanses of a giant Mondrian painting.

In Franziska Buch’s adaptation of Erich Kästner’s children’s book Emil and the Detectives, Berlin is not a construction site but a playground. When Emil heads by himself from his home on the Baltic coast to the big city, his money is stolen by a jackbooted thug who looks like a member of the National Front. Not to worry. Emil teams with a group of ragamuffin crimefighters to bring hapless "Vampire-Face" to rights. Along the way, the mini-sleuths teach the adults a few lessons about what it’s like to be pint-size in a grown-up world. As kid movies go, Emil is pretty nifty, with a guileless charm and a gaggle of appealing characters. Throw in a bit of krautrock-inflected kiddie hip-hop and a sly Run Lola Run reference and you’ve got a picture that appeals to American adults almost as much as it does to German kids.