Merely a few years after the fall of the Wall, Berlin is in a state of upheaval. Mammoth construction sites, particularly in the new government district between Bellevue and Tiergarten, reveal the city's efforts to take on the architectural appearance of a modern new capital - a task that risks scarring the face of the old metropolis, forever wiping out the material presence of its history, marring the memory of it in the minds of its inhabitants. Helga Reidemeister documents these changes with a poetic eye for the complicated beauty of today's Berlin, while avoiding sentimental or conventional language. Music by world-renowned jazz trombonist Konrad Bauer contributes much to the haunting beauty of this work. The documentary focuses on the young photographer, Robert Paris, and the beliefs he shares with his friends and family. Representative of many people in East Berlin, the former capital of the German Democratic Republic, he, his friends, and family are irritated by the building developments, which they see as a disastrous caesura, as if the structural changes have finally made them conscious of the demise of their former state. Robert and his friends have lost what used to be their native country with all its familiar niches and have not yet found - or accepted - a replacement for it. "It is no longer my city," says Robert, "it no longer interests me." Unable to find a home in Berlin, Robert departs for Kerala, India, where he takes pictures of workers scrapping ships - images not unlike those of his native city. The workers' portraits are also juxtaposed with the work of Robert's mother, photographer Helga Paris. Lights from Afar is about a German conflict that is perhaps too commonly and simplistically labeled 'GDR nostalgia' (Ostalgie). When those such as Robert and his friends complain, they are often criticized for seeming self-pitying, confused and egocentric. This is primarily because these complaints are rarely expressed in specific terms and many people are ultimately unable to define their problems. The best they can do is find a vague description of their feelings, almost as if there were no words available with which these former East German citizens can express their problems and unease - moreover, many do not belong to the mainstream and certainly not to those who profited from the system. Such complaints ultimately revolve around the loss of identity, both national and personal, and the changing cityscape is merely one symptom of this process.