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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.

W hat is more beautiful than being in Paris on your first day in office?!” (Annalena ster of people developing! Gatherings of this kind rarely attract me but the sounds co-
Baerbock, Foreign Minister). The phone call had come in the morning, very early.
ming from the store definitely did: The Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saëns. I
I was dozy and unshaved and without having had my coffee and therefore also not in a walked closer. A matted circle of stainless steel covered the surface of the store window;
good mood, otherwise I might perhaps have been pleased. A show of films in Paris, in only in the centre, not much larger than a gramophone record, a peephole was milled
just a few days, my film was also part of it. A friendly voice: “Are you coming?” From my out of the metal and the crowd was jostling in front of it. Just now and then, for just a
side: clearing my throat. A long pause. I was in the middle of writing a film script, had few visitors – maybe they were models, starlets or television celebrities whom everybody
the flu, remembered a school excursion, endless queues in front of the Eiffel Tower, end- knows in France – a hardly visible door in the circle opened and allowed a view of the
less queues in front of the Louvre, and even longer queues in front of the Mona Lisa. “It incredible space behind it: a discotheque? It was too bright to be that. A fashion store?
is just one film screening in the evening, you could arrive here in the morning and travel For this, the clothes racks were missing. A bookstore? Then the shelves were missing.
right back afterwards. Are you coming?” “May I take the night train?” “Yes.” “May I bring “Rien!” “Nothing?” “Yes, nothing, the shop sells nothing.” A young woman ahead of me
someone?” “No.” From the depths of my memory, different images welled up, memories at the peephole appeared just as amazed as I was about her explanation. Once again,
of a trip to Paris with my parents: a flight there in the middle of a storm, plenty of used the sesame entrance opened and now I wanted to enter as well. “Stop! Montrer I´invita-
“hygiene bags”, getting lost in Charles de Gaulle airport, visiting a restaurant in front of tion!” An athletic gentleman whose upper body only with difficulty fit into the jacket of
the Versailles Castle which alarmingly decimated our travel funds (unfortunately already his designer suit, positioned himself at the door demonstratively spreading his legs
low at the beginning of the short trip). “The cinema is located almost right at the Arc de apart. Suddenly, calls were heard: “Jean Paul, Jean Paul, regarde ici!” Crew cut, sailor
Triomphe, north of the Champs Élysées, hence right in the centre.” From my side just look, mischievous smile, indeed, Jean Paul Gaultier stepped up to the door. “May I come
wheezing, thoughts of the French section at the Berlinale film festival, with its almost inside?” I said confidently, as if to a good old buddy. He looked at me, briefly, critically,
largest, emptiest and coldest standing room and of Jean Paul Gaultier, who once presen- then with a smile: “Ah, bien sûr!” The beefy bouncer opened the door without hesitating.
ted a film there and whom I met later at one of these famous-infamous Berlin nightlife Behind it, no glittering of gold, strass and chandeliers was hidden, as I had expected it,
parties. He wasn’t feeling well and I helped him, pretending but Spartan cool: the flooring of black knobbed rubber; the sides
by courtesy that I didn’t recognize him. “It will be a screening and the back wall curved to form an ellipse which was tiled in
for schoolchildren. Paris secondary schools, 10th grade. They sunny yellow quite similar to the Parisian metro stations of the
are well-behaved and will certainly be thrilled. Are you co- 1970s; above it a sky of luminous glass fibres and, unspectacu-
ming?” Rain showers of a biblical format pelted down onto larly removed from the centre of the room, on a pedestal of brus-
the pavement in front of the Gare du Nord, the trip with the hed stainless steel, the marble-white head of an antique goddess.
night train had been uncomfortable, the cinema on Rue Bal- “Who has designed the room?” Jean Paul was lively chatting with
zac was half empty, the schoolchildren were indeed well-be- a group of beautiful, classily dressed people, models from his fa-
haved and friendly. Almost too friendly. No questions that shion entourage, perhaps, and I was left with the beefy bouncer.
stay in the memory, questions that keep you in the cinema He promptly replied: “I am not allowed to tell you!” “Will that be
and sometimes make you stay on with the audience for a store?” “I´m not allowed to tell you!” “Of Jean Paul Gaultier?”
hours, laughing heartily together, arguing, discussing and Collage: Benjamin Reding “I´m not allowed to tell you.” “What is the room then, after all?”
wondering. Two hours later, I was again standing on the pa- “I can tell you!” I pricked up my ears. “It´s a mock-up-shop. A test
vement wet from the rain. Far too early for the trip home. for a future shop interior.” He nodded contentedly, proud to have
“Why don’t you go for a short walk down the Champs Élysées, the illumination there at come up with a clever answer. But when I wanted to photograph the mock-up shop with
Christmas time is so wonderful”, a staff member of the film showing gave me her advice. my smartphone, the bouncer became beefy again. “No!” and put his hand in front of
And, of course, the Christmas lighting looked just as wonderfully and perfectly glittering the lens. Maybe it seemed too gruff a reaction even for him, he suddenly smiled again,
as everyone is familiar with from thousands of photographs. I turned away, walked on, pointed to a small buffet which offered nothing except champagne bottles. “Have a
without an actual destination. Went past the “sans-papiers”, the immigrants without do- drink!” It sounded like an order. I obeyed. “What´s your profession?” “Writer”, I replied.
cuments, the “illegals”, who offer miniature Eiffel towers for sale, some of them flashing He looked at me uncomprehendingly. Suddenly, he grinned, broadly, almost boiste-
in colour, some with music (chirpy versions of Offenbach’s Can Can music), past the Pa- rously. “Ah, you should do what I do!” He straightened up. “Then everybody likes you!”
risian women and men passers-by who always seem a touch more elegantly, surpri- He smiled at the models who, it seemed, didn’t feel like noticing him. “You see?” And
singly, deliberately dressed than in most major cities of this world, and past the store before I could even ask him: “What?”, he had taken off the designer jacket and the de-
windows which here present the most beautiful trifles of life with keyed-up, exuberant signer shirt and showed me his kickboxing moves. Now the models did look over and
grandeur, hence jewellery, art, fashion … I came to a stop. On soft cushions – but, in fact, Jean Paul Gaultier as well. The heat, the champagne, the music, the smell of sweat and
hewn from red porphyry, white marble, black granite, blue lapis lazuli – precious objects perfume, everything slowly started to revolve. I looked for a cool place, I looked for the
framed by diamonds were resting, earrings, bracelets, brooches, always just one item exit. “Did you like it?!” What could the bouncer mean? The room? The party? Him? I de-
per cushion, just one in each window. In the store window next door: hat creations, fro- cided in favour of the room: “J´aime beaucoup!” The winter wind outside was a blessing.
zen in blocks of ice. Like a veil, the mist rose from the polished surface. Oh là là...Next Exhausted, I trotted down one of the side streets, suddenly quiet and empty of people,
to it the central store of Chanel and, indeed, the scent of Chanel No. 5 wafted from the and breathed out with relief, now what could still happen? Then the limousine of the
entrance. I breathed in deeply. Voilà, c’est Paris... and there in the background, wasn’t French State President whooshed past me and turned into the courtyard of the Élysée
that Carla Bruni hiding behind thick sunglasses and hurrying into the boutique of Gianni Palace... “Hopefully there will soon be another film showing in Paris”, I thought, strolled
Versace? And right here further on, right at the next store window, there was even a clu- to the Gare du Nord and boarded the night train.

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