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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 he building is unmissable. Located at an intersection, like a piece of pie or a battle- are in a difficult position, a tricky balance between the demonstration of power and art-
ship – of bricks. With a wide glass front and, left and right of it, as high as the buil-
specific modesty, also a kind of proximity to the simple, “proletarian” audience of their
ding, posters announcing: Danton’s Death, Twelfth Night Or What You Will, Timon of theatres, has to be found which can then turn out to be ambitiously austere or like the
Athens. Every evening, I drove past it. Until then often sleepy there, however, I woke up, boardroom in a provincial savings bank. In Bochum, it was the boardroom of a provincial
each time, because in the evening it shone. The word “festively” is allowed here. It shone savings bank: filing cabinets, imitation wood, felt carpeting. The director now stepped
festively, the Schauspielhaus Bochum. What might be happening inside that made it up to the window, turned his back to me: “You intend quite a lot from the very start …”
shine so dramatically, so magnificently? That is what I thought and was thinking still “Yes, I think it is really fantastic that you give major opportunities to young people here!”
when I greeted the cat in the courtyard and gave it its daily leftover sausage to eat. He briefly smiled, was flattered, but immediately censored himself. “Yes, but one also
“Please, where do I find the director … the stage director’s office?” “Stage director’s of- has to be able to come through with it, Mister Rettig.” Should I correct him? Oh well, I
fice? Are you registered?” What will happen if I say no? “Yes, registered.” The porter at was used to it: Benedikt instead of Benjamin, Rettig or Redlich or Redding instead of Re-
the stage door of the Schauspielhaus, a plump, bespectacled gentleman, looked at me ding, no, now was not the moment. He looked in a seemingly casual way at the dial of
expectantly. “Your name?” “Reding, Benjamin”. He looked through a thick stack of notes, his wristwatch. “If it were in the Kammerspiele, hence in the foyer of the Kammerspiele
read something, murmured “Ra … Re … Rettig. Ah, here it is", and nodded. Suddenly the or just rehearsals, without stagehands. And only actors who don’t have term contracts
opener of the glass door buzzed. I stumbled inside, as here. Then you could …. try it … just once.” He turned away
quickly as it was possible, took the next best corridor. from the window. “And without a budget, that goes without
“No, in the other direction, to the Kammerspiele.” I smi- saying. And without a premiere. The decision will be made
led. “Well, of course! To the Kammerspiele!” And stamped after the rehearsals.” I had discovered the play in Istanbul,
off energetically. “You are quite late!” The auditorium was a friend had given me Die verliebte Wolke [The enamoured
dark. “And this on the first day of rehearsals, ts, ts. But at loud] to read: the beautiful Ayse lives with her friends, a
least you’ve come, some of them don’t show up at all.” A dove and a rabbit, in a wonderful garden. The powerful
young man, who looked a bit like Bert Brecht or wanted Kara Seyfi, however, the man to whom all the land already
to look like him, got up behind the little table. “I am the belongs, also wants to own her garden. Ayse opposes. The
stage director, that (he pointed to the people next to him mighty Kara Seyfi takes revenge and has storms and
in the dim light) is the dramaturge, the stage manager, the droughts rage to destroy the garden. Only a cloud is the wit-
head of the sound technology, the head of the lighting ness of her drama and, of course, it falls in love with Ayse
technology and there”, with a sweeping gesture, he poin- and, in the end, empties itself completely of rain sacrificing
ted to the empty folding seat at the end of the row, “is itself to save the garden and Ayse … To stage that! Wow,
where the trainee will be residing as of today.” I curiously Foto: Benjamin Reding great, but … where does one start? With the lights? The text?
looked at the persons in the twilight. “Meaning you!” “Oh The stage? Yes, I thought, with the stage! The play is for chil-
…”, I said. “And …” with demonstrative boredom, he grab- dren, children love animals and flowers. And thus, the rab-
bed a list, “Benedikt, he can ….”, “Benjamin”, I corrected. bit and the dove were made of fabric and real flowers were
“Yes, Benedikt can start by making himself useful right away and get me a strong coffee hurriedly bought. And children love music! That is why I asked a saz player to make
from the canteen”. And he added: “And a ham sandwich, with cucumber and egg!” Du- music sound in the intervals: “Üsküdar´a gideriken”, the Turkish folksong. And then I was
ring the following days, I hardly saw my stray cat, the rehearsals lasted far into the night, faced with what was probably the most difficult problem: How was the cloud supposed
with trembling and quaking, creative block and defect spotlights, outbursts of rage and to rain? When there was no real water allowed in the foyer. I tried out glitter dust, tinsel,
text lapses. After hundreds of litres of transported coffee, several hundred ham sandwi- confetti, but everyone immediately noticed it wasn’t water. Then the necklace of the ac-
ches, the stage director rehearsed the complex final scene. Nothing worked. The cues, tress playing Ayse broke, a string of glass beads which sprayed in all directions. Like
the light changes and the acting. The young actress playing Alma became again and again water! Then came the day of the last, they public rehearsal: The children whooped and
entangled in her text: “You will all get to know me. All, all of you will get to know me!” hooted with joy and during the scene of the raining cloud, they yelled. At that moment,
She mistakenly mixed up every “all” with every “you” and so on. Then the stage director I could feel what it is to “stage direct”. To use your own ideas to move the minds and the
looked at her piercingly and then called out: “You have got to have it here, here!” He me- hearts of other people. A chance, a privilege, a joy. “I have been told about your last, pu-
lodramatically pressed his hands into his chest. “If you don’t have it here, then it will all blic rehearsal.” The director sounded severe. “There has been criticism. From colleagues
mean nothing!” The actress broke out in tears and I suddenly thought to myself: Man, I as well. One has to be able to show skills here in the theatre, to achieve a standard, a
could have explained this better, more clearly and simply, how she has to say the sen- high standard, dear Mister Rettig!” “No”. “No?” “My name is Reding, not Rettig.” Now
tence. And that is what I thought on the way home and was still thinking it when falling the director stopped short. “Your father, isn’t he the famous theatre critic?” “No.” “You
asleep. “Well then, so you want to be a stage director …” The director made the words have never been a trainee at the Vienna Burgtheater?” “No. I have only worked in a bar.”
melt like processed cheese in his thin-lipped mouth. “A children’s play … something Tur- Now the peered at me, somewhat amazed, like the children had looked at my raining
kish … by Nazim Hikmet.” Every word, every “s” and “z” sounded as if it were sizzling, beads. “Oh.” He exhaled again. “We’ll make your play part of the programme! The pre-
burning on a stove that was too hot. And now he got up, walked deep in thought, as it miere will be on Saturday. Good luck!” In the evening, the stray cat climbed into my kit-
seemed to me, deliberately slowly around his desk. Through the almost endless corridor chen. I put the whole salami in front of it, scratched its ears and gave it a name: “Cloud”.
of the Schauspielhaus, I had tried to imagine his office. The directors’ rooms in theatres Then I stroked its unkempt, grey fur. My hand was trembling with exhaustion.

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