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Jeden Monat nähern sich unsere Kolumnisten, die Berliner Filmemacher Dominik und Benjamin Reding, dem jeweiligen Heftthema
auf ihre ganz eigene Art und Weise. Geboren wurden die Zwillinge am 3. Ja nuar 1969 in Dortmund. Während Dominik Architektur
in Aachen und Film in Hamburg studierte, absolvierte Benjamin ein Schauspielstudium in Stuttgart. 1997 begann die Arbeit an
ihrem ersten gemeinsamen Kinofilm „Oi! Warning“. Seitdem arbeiten sie für Fernseh- und Kinofilmprojekte zusammen.

Each month our columnists, Berlin-based filmmakers Dominik and Benjamin Reding, approach the respective issue-specific
theme in their very personal way. The twins were born on January 3, 1969 in Dortmund. Whilst Dominik studied architecture
in Aachen and film in Hamburg, Benjamin graduated in acting studies in Stuttgart. They started working on their first joint
motion picture “Oi! Warning“ in 1997. Since then they have tightly collaborated for TV and cinema film projects.

T hey crackled, buzzed, roared and bubbled. They shimmered, glowed, glistened to give me a lift? On his moped. On a slippery road. Nothing had happened to me,
- in all the colours of the rainbow. But only in death agony they showed all their
not even scratches. The neon beer glowed as yellow as the campfire in a log cabin
beauty. They took their time, flickered, pulsed, the light became weaker, the colours in winter. I almost put my hands out to warm up. My brother's going to scold me,
cloudy and then faded into dim yellow or faint blue, restlessly, shakily, defensively, seriously, I thought.
finally. I discovered them in the sleet, on the wall of a house opposite the hospital. A few years later, the beer glass was only filled halfway, then the foam was missing,
The night my big brother was discharged. After the accident. When I was waiting for then the bubbles. The light play of the neon tubes got out of step and had fallen out
him. At first there was nothing. Only the rain-wet façade of a high-rise building of time. Suddenly, these candy-coloured neon radios, neon umbrellas and neon
across the street. Then they flickered and formed the outline of a beer glass: neon beers were as old-fashioned and unenjoyable as grandma's and grandpa's cigars,
tubes! White, thin, five meters high. I put my head back, stretched my neck. Then egg liqueurs and brandy chocolates. A grandson turned things around: Helmut Kohl
another flickering and the beer glass filled up. Tube after tube flashed up yellow and became Chancellor and suddenly a band called “Neonbabies” was playing on the
caused the level to rise. White tubes followed, forming a head. “Oh wow,” I said. radio, a film called “Neonstadt” was shown in the cinema and a book called
And then, I stared and forgot to even breathe, bubbles rose out of the head. Three “Neonschatten” was published. The Kohl kids discovered the decommissioned
baby blue neon circles. “Whew,” I said. And like the final signature of an artist, a tubes of their Adenauer grandparents and reassembled them. It became a frenzy,
writing underneath shone in red letters: “Was trinken wir? Bier aus dem Revier!” short and intense, like the supernova of a star before it burns out. Those were
(“What do we drink? Beer from the coal district!”) If it had been a theatre perform- heroes who were able to pick a wildly curved neon letter from the garbage, bring it
ance, I would have clapped loudly. Instead, I home in one piece and combine it with other
smiled happily and enlivened, as a seven-year- already “saved ones”: OFF, ON, LOVE, HATE,
old does when he sees something that is short WAR and.... no, the X was always missing for
of a miracle. Then the advertisement went off SEX. And if no originals were to be found, then
and I pondered. Would my brother shake me? there were the cheap tubes from the DIY store
Scold him? Hit him? The sleet became heavier. that immersed one's own flat in the desired
The advertising spectacle began anew. And of cool and trendy ice cream parlour light, but
course, I looked at it again. also revealed all the cobwebs, water stains
The city of my childhood was still full of them: and burn holes in the carpet. And then it was
neon tubes. As lettering, shop window light, all over. At first, the EU directive on energy effi-
shop lighting, and as advertising. No, not these ciency pulled the plug of neon tubes from the
square plastic boxes, behind which pale white DIY store, then the DIN standard for thermal
fluorescent lamps illuminate cut-out foil letters insulation dealt the deathblow to the last kid-
carelessly. No, and neither these LED display ney-table era neon signs. The fluorescent beer
boards, which shout at each other with their glass was removed, too, foam and air bubbles,
glaring little films, glaring light emitting diodes “Wir” and “Revier” turned into a pile of glass
and glaring slogans. No, I mean neon signs. scrap in the construction site container.
Curved, luminous glass lines, filled with electri- A few days ago, I did a pub tour, at night, in
cally charged gas, brightly coloured depending Foto: Neonobjekte von Sygns, Berlin the sleet. Suddenly I was grabbed and taken.
on the filling and current impulse intensity Not by a human, but by an advertisement. A
and, thanks to the invention of time switches, shop sign made of neon tubes. Real neon
in constant movement: happy neon couples tubes! Bent, gas-filled, with a reddish shine.
toasted with neon champagne glasses, neon fish bubbled neon bubbles from their And the lettering looked new. I couldn't believe it, went in, inquired. Yeah, a small
neon gills, neon umbrellas opened and closed, neon telephone receivers rang, neon manufactory was restoring them, for a few months now. Back outside, I looked at
TVs lit up, neon cigarettes produced neon smoke. Perhaps it was this moving, their warm glow, like heating wires in a radiator or neon beer in a neon beer glass,
entwined-bent lightness after standing at attention in the years before, perhaps the a long time ago, on the wall of a high-rise building opposite the hospital. My big
dimly colourful design after the extremely bright light of the anti-aircraft spotlights, brother walked out of the main entrance, limping. I was shaking. Not because of the
which greatly enthused the people in the era of the economic miracle with the flu- cold. Now he's gonna scold me and beat me up. He walked up to me, raised his
orescent tubes? But perhaps it was also the infantile, the playfulness of the tubes, foot and said, “You see, it doesn't hurt anymore”. Then he put his arm around my
the friendly “Punch and Judy theatre” of the lights turned on and off that attracted shoulder, and we went home and he never mentioned the whole thing again.
the strollers and shopkeepers in the post-war years. Whoever has sinned as an And now I have a wish. To all architects and interior designers and shop owners.
adult wants to be an innocent child again. Please use neon! Real neon tubes, bent, filled with gas and glowing in candy
Again, the beer glass filled up, the bubbles rose again, again I looked at it and then, colours. Not because it would be ecological, it's not. Not because it would be prac-
short and full of worries, I looked at the entrance door. Two weeks at the hospital. tical, it's not. Not because it would be convenient, it's not, but because it would be
Broken foot. All because of me. Why did I have to get up too late? Why had the bus wonderful. And kids like it. And because it comforts younger brothers waiting for
already left? Why had my big brother still been at home? Why did I have to ask him their big brothers at the hospital.

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