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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.

Ein Essay von Dominik Reding
E verything went black. Well, that’s not correct. Nothing actually turns black. You who was called “Karin” by all the guys on the construction site, and Ali and wog and
don’t see anything at all, not even yourself anymore. You lose yourself, you lose
dago, but they didn’t actually say it in a nasty way. Karim made nothing of it and
everything for a short, absolute moment. The engine was running when I awoke always smiled, like a mother smiling at the boisterous pranks of her children.
from the faint. In my car, on my way to work, Monday morning, seven o’ clock. The Iron bender, that’s not a job for every man. The reinforcements in the concrete have
ignition key was inserted, but I had not engaged a gear, the handbrake was still on. to be cut, bent and connected beforehand. With hammer, pliers and a lot of strength.
“What a start,” I said. I had been working like a horse on a construction site. People Karim did this so agilely and easily as if he was knotting macramé. In the breaks,
say “drudge on a construction site”, not “work on a construction site”. And it’s a fact: the bricklayers went to the site trailer and drank beer, Karim stayed outside in the
it is drudgery. After the first workweek I returned on Friday afternoon, laid down on sun and spread out his arms. He sat down in the grass, next to me and asked ques-
my bed and fell asleep. I woke up in the afternoon. On Sunday. Three weeks were tions: what architectural studies were, what one would learn. I explained it to him
lying ahead of me. Practical training on site as part of my architectural studies. No and he listened. And he told me many things: that a writer had once visited his class
practical training - no diploma. I had to bear it. at school and had read stories to the children. What a job, writer. He said it bewil-
The building site: an estate of terraced houses. 200 houses comprising of living dered, amazed, not despicable, not amused, like all the others were talking about
room, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom plus a terrace and a carport. Architecture? None, anything that had to do with mental work. Then, as if he woke up form a distant but
well, yes, there was a slanted corner next to the front door and a brick column nice dream, he looked at his watch and said: “Break is over!” and continued to bend
underneath the kitchen window. My task: iron. Agilely and easily, as if it was nothing to
drilling holes through concrete floor slabs, write home about.
removing concrete from shuttering boards, pok- On Monday after fainting, I was late. No one
ing around in built-up aggregate in freshly was waiting in the site hut. A lorry had arrived,
poured concrete, and clearing away concrete delivering construction timber, square timbers
rubble when the architect arrived for inspec- and scaffolding timbers, half a ton. “Come
tion. The company: an eight-man business, here!” Korn looked at me and shouted down
which had went bust and had to do with no from his crane: “Come on, muck in! Scaffolding
machines but plenty of muscle power since. timbers first!” What is square timber and what
Mondays, in the site hut, they boasted about is scaffolding timber? I didn’t know. I got hold
the money they spent on Linienstraße. The hero of one piece and threw it into the metal crane
always was the one who had spent the most. cage. Korn grinned. “Scaffolding timber!” The
Linienstraße, the red-light district in our town. builders watched me. Eagerly. I nodded. I took
Two of the guys never entered the site hut: another piece from the pile and through it into
Karim, the Lebanese, and Korn, the new crane the cage. “Do you want to take me for a ride?
operator. Maybe this was his surname, because I said scaffolding timbers! SCAFFOLDING TIM-
he definitely never drank Korn schnapps, not BERS!” “Leave him alone”. Suddenly, Karim
even beer, like the bricklayers did, who were stood next to me, put a piece of scaffolding
not able to brick up a straight wall without timber into the steel container and looked up
have finished four or five tins. He had a perfect- Foto: Benjamin Reding at Korn with a smile. “Stay out of this, wog!”
ly trimmed moustache and despised all archi- Korn said it different from all the others. Short,
tects, clients and generally all academics. sharp, hard.
“Do you need that?” At some time or another he had noticed me. He demonstrative- The words were hanging in the air for a moment, like the metal cage from the crane
ly held a pair of work gloves in front of my face. Definitely, the student wimp would cantilever arm, then the words dropped. Karim pushed the metal container. It swung
work with gloves. I resolutely shook my head. He smiled, confident of victory, almost back and forth for a moment, before the metal cage hit the crane. Bang! The crane
pitying “Come along!“ Korn climbed down into the foundation pit and pointed at a swayed very much. Karim smiled again, friendly, relaxed, as he always did. Cling,
garage-sized rectangle, marked with gravel. “Dig is out. That’s how you do it!” He cling, cling. A new noise sounded. It was easy to hear because it was silent on the
pushed the spade into the heavy clay soil, dug out a lump of soil and tossed it out construction site. Very silent. Korn’s heavy shoes on the crane ladder. Cling, cling,
of the pit. Three times in a row. “You finish this by noon, will ya?!“ He looked at me. cling. The sound came closer quickly. “Go!“ Karim’s colleagues gaped at me, almost
I nodded. He left the pit. But the damp soil, smelling of forest and mushrooms, hostile. Why should I go? I looked at their faces. “Student, go!” one of them said.
offered resistance. I pushed down the spade harder and harder, one moment in I understood. I left. Through the mud, past the freshly poured foundations, the
anger, the next in despair, again and again and – ouch – I rammed the sharp edge terraces, kitchens, living rooms, carports, and front gardens. The next workday was
of the spade between my thumb and forefinger. Blood dripped from the wound. I no different from all the others. Maybe slightly vrery quieter. Korn was wearing
looked around anxiously: I hoped that Korn hadn’t watched this happen, that a very big head bandage. Karim was missing. “Sacked,” whispered the colleagues. I
nobody had seen it. “Bathe it!” A giant stood on the edge of the foundation pit and continued to work on the site for three weeks. I received my documents. I could
looked down at me. Worried. “Can become infected.” It was Karim, the iron bender, become an architect.

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