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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.

J ust don’t be late! The mayor would be there, the power-plant operator and the ween weeds, snails and cow pats? Why this artistic scream into the void? “Do you
local fire chief! Once again, the shooting had lasted until late in the evening. Once
know anyone at the Berliner Verkehrsbetriebe?” A fellow student asked me, a decade
again, there was too much to be sorted out and too much to discuss on the set for the later, shortly before her graduation film at the art academy. “One scene is set in 1928
coming days of shooting. Now I had to step on it. Almost full throttle. They’ll just leave in Berlin in the entrance of a subway station. They still have an original station like
if I’m not on time. I need something from them, they don’t need anything from me. that in Berlin, with a large entrance hall, that’s where I want to shoot it! It’s called
The tunnel on the road ahead of me was brightly lit, bright and straight as a die. I Wittenbergplatz. In the scene, my main character says goodbye to his film girlfriend
didn’t need to reduce speed. Or so I thought. Then my small car skidded away. It had and goes into the hall. The scene will take no longer than two or three minutes.” I
been a clear day in the Hochsauerland region, sunny and icy. Ice! The entrance to the mumbled, “Got it,” and emailed and phoned around, first with the BVG, then the
tunnel was iced over! The car lurched, skidded, and the tunnel walls came closer and public order office, then with the shop owners, the city cleaning department, the
closer. If oncoming traffic had come along then... But it was late in the evening, and district mayor, with more and more offices and authorities. Many said: no! A few: yes,
the road empty. I finally got my car back under control. “Why do you absolutely want but... Shooting time, at most from three to four o’clock in the morning, with road
to film here?” I was late for the meeting, but the mayor of the small Sauerland com- closures, portable toilets and security. Costs: about 8,000 euros. “How about your
munity, the operator of the local hydroelectric power station and the senior fire chief actor just walks through an imposing gate and comes into an entrance hall that looks
had waited. Over beer and sandwiches. “Well, tell me! Why do you want to film at like a 1928 underground-station entrance hall? Would that work too?” She hesitated:
our dam?” the mayor asked, somewhat amused but also interested. Yes, why actual- “I don’t know…” My ambition was piqued. I thought of the gate in the middle of
ly? My thoughts revolved around: Why...? Because a big, emotional scene also needs nowhere, where you could shoot for hours without any road closures. And the entran-
a strong set, a strong visual background? So that the central moment of the action in ce hall? I got on my bike in my old hometown and went looking. Not for the large,
the film doesn’t get lost, can’t be overlooked? Certainly. Because my brother had public, municipal buildings, not for the postcard motifs surrounded by bureaucracy
drawn a dramatic dam setting for it in the storyboard, with a power-station building and the mania for authorization. I searched in the old industrial areas: the often neg-
and a water-covered dam wall and even a bridge in front of it, and I absolutely wan- lected, partly dilapidated buildings of the municipal electricity-, water- and gas sup-
ted to find all of this, precisely because it seemed so impossible ply. From the Golden Twenties. And I found what I was
to find it in reality? That too, surely. Because in small places like looking for: power-station turbine halls in steep architectural
the Sauerland, people are still happy when a film is shot there, expressionism, with brick zigzags on the outside and traverti-
a “real” film, and, if you’re lucky, they make things possible and ne panels up to the ceiling on the inside, more dramatic,
open doors? Yes, that too. Or was it because of the bike ride? shriller almost than Fritz Höger’s Chilehaus, pumping stations
That strange bike ride many years ago... The route was always a as sleek as the department stores of a Erich Mendelsohn, with
challenge. A steep route. First a little uphill, then steeper uphill, round clinker corners and curved panes. All in all, ideal,
then very steep uphill for a very long way. It’s no coincidence expressive locations! And they had one more thing in com-
that the street in my hometown is called Blickstrasse. It comes mon: no crowds. “Public buildings” without a public. The few
at the end: A view down on the city and further, much further, employees were delighted about my visit. At last their daily
cycling, and the way back is too winding to just whizz down Foto: Benjamin Reding workplaces were being noticed, photographed, admired. And
almost to the church towers of the neighbouring city. I didn’t
that’s why I had pushed so hard in the Sauerland, that’s why
like cycling this route, and I still don’t. There is no reward for
I really wanted to film at this dam in the Sauerland with the
without braking. Nevertheless, I often rode it. Out of the city, the suburbs, the clean power station and the bridge in front of the dam wall. And I said, summarizing my
garden geometry of the single-family houses. Here the landscape was rampant, its thoughts with a radiant smile: “Your dam is simply magnificent! The most beautiful,
boundaries still drawn without a set square and compass. Dirt paths, cow pastures, the most characterful I’ve seen! This is where I want to film my scene. Here and
a few farm huts, the smell of stables and meadow herbs. During that bike ride – too nowhere else!” The group of men nodded, a bit surprised and delighted. “But if you
exhausted and too lazy to reach the hilltop with the “view” – I turned off, in search of want to film in November, the water level is at its lowest. Not a drop overflows the
shade and peace, into unknown territory. There it was: casually visible as I rode past dam. If at all, it won’t be until April. The last time was ten years ago,” the power plant
on the dirt track. Solidly fenced, half dug into the ground, windowless and massive, director interjected in a matter-of-fact tone. The group fell silent. “Well, we could
almost like a green fort from the First World War. Nothing gave away its contents, pump the water over the dam.” The senior fire chief spoke up. “But it doesn’t look
nothing except for the mighty entrance: carefully built of quarry stones, in the zigzag that impressive. There’s just a thin trickle splashing along the wall, it’s not very dra-
style of the early 1920s, imposing, like the entrance to a library, art museum or church matic.” I thought about it. Better to be quick now. I’ll never get this location again.
of those years, with a forged double door and a hewn keystone. The capstone showed “Have you ever peed against a tree trunk?” I looked around very seriously. “If there’s
the grinning face of a water spirit: Krause’s optical blend of ancient Neptune and a lot of pressure on it, what happens...?” The group of men smiled, knowingly. “If we
Germanic-coarse water nymph. I leaned my bike against the fence and marvelled. So hang the hoses well over the wall and let the pumped-out water down with a lot of
much art in the middle of nowhere. The entrance to a grassy mound, observed and pressure... Yes, that could work,” explained the senior fire chief. “But it’ll cost you too
used only by a few caterpillars and snails that tirelessly crawled up the sun-warmed much, it’ll cost a fortune!” The mayor sounded disappointed as he spoke. “We could
blocks of the portal. A rusty sign on the fence provided brief information about the declare it a disaster-protection exercise, then it would be paid for by...” The senior fire
building’s human use: “Municipal Waterworks. Storage Facility IV. No entry!” On the chief didn’t finish the sentence, just grinned at everyone in the room. The mayor
way back – finally downhill, the warm evening wind in my hair – I pondered: Why did understood, nodded benevolently. “Yes, you could do it that way...” And that’s how
they put a portal, so massive and artistically sophisticated, in a lonely meadow, bet- we did it, visually dramatic: architecture as a cinematic language.

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