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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.

S abine is not a bad name but neither is it particularly exotic. It sounds a bit docile, a wide.” We listened to him and it sounded as if he himself had been present at the plan-
ning and the building. “The admission was affordable for the upper classes but the poor
bit conventional, proper and respectable. Those called Sabine help, they study, they
clean up. They don’t dazzle. Could it be that one takes drugs because one’s name is people often saved for months to pay it and came from all over the Roman Empire to
Sabine? Because one doesn’t want to be docile, conventional, proper and respectable? just once bathe in the thermal bath. That baths used to be something special is hard to
Sabine wore decent clothes, had an unobtrusive hairdo, a friendly but somewhat mon- imagine today.” Herr Kranz sighed, as if he regretted the loss of this lack. It was getting
otone voice, she went to our school, she liked to help, studied hard, took the advanced dark, it started to rain, we left.
mathematics course with Herr Kranz, she played on the handball team and, one day, she On the wet steps of the Spanish Steps, Herr Kranz made a suggestion: “I know a won-
took drugs. LSD. This didn’t change her name but a lot else. She no longer studied math- derful tavern in Via del Corso. Tasty pizza and favourable prices, who is coming along?”
ematics but texts from Hesse’s Steppenwolf, she no longer went to school but, in the The group followed him. “No, I´m not sleeping outside!” A woman called out, tense, at
morning, into the meadow in front of it, she wore her hair in dreadlocks and took no A- the bottom of the stairs. I stopped, looked. A corrugated-iron shed stood on the piazza,
levels but, at some point, disappeared from our town. It was now said that she was in a mobile police station with two carabinieri in front of it, self-confident in their flashy,
Cologne, at the train station, with a backpack and bare feet; that she was in Greece in a overly decorated uniforms. They were talking with a young woman or, no, she was talk-
tent on the beach; that she was in Amsterdam, was selling self-made jewellery in ing to them, gesticulating excitedly. “I have friends here, many friends. I have places to
Waterlooplein; that she was in India, travelling from hostel to hostel, from party to party, go to.” She was carrying a greasy backpack, wore torn skirts and her dishevelled hair
from beach bar to beach bar, from boyfriend to peeped out from a stained headscarf. “Let me
boyfriend. Then the connection was severed. go, I´ll cause no trouble, let me go now.” The
“Her departure is saddening”, Herr Kranz said. voice sounded somewhat monotone and I rec-
The hotel was situated right next to the Vatican. ognized her: Sabine! The policemen asked
This sounded quite exciting in the brochure, but pointless questions and didn’t listen to the
the Albergo San Gottardo looked out onto a answers, looked at her, fascinated and chal-
narrow street congested with garbage bins and lenged, like dogs playing with a ball they could
parked cars and also onto back courtyards pop- also tear to pieces. Then, at long last, perhaps
ulated by cats. Narrow, high rooms, stuffed with because I had joined them, they let her go.
many items of furniture and heavy beds which Sabine not only looked like a derelict, she also
promised plenty of discomfort and nightmares, smelt like one. “Goodness me, come first with
arranged along corridors where plush sofas me and have a shower!” Wow, what did I say?
stood unused and smelling. And however far Abbildung: Holzstich der Caracallathermen, aus: Magasin Pittoresque, März 1882 / graphische Bearbeitung: Benjamin Reding She in our hotel? But Sabine nodded, politely
one leaned out of the windows, there was not a said yes and walked on next to me. She told
trace of the dome above St Peter’s Basilica to be about Nepal, about tramping in Kathmandu,
seen. Only the hotel bathrooms had, to every- about friendly monks and devious thieves. At
one’s surprise, a truly Roman touch: bathtubs of the hotel entrance, I waited until a group of
black marble, delicately veined, polished tourists came and joined them with Sabine.
smooth, the floor consisting of white and gold- Anything to avoid attracting attention now.
en mosaic stones arranged into strict patterns, “Signore?!” The man at the reception looked
the walls covered with marble slabs. We pulled over at us. “Si?” My voice vibrated, I rigidly
the trolley bags behind us, visited each other in kept walking on, “Breakfast is served until 10!”
the rooms, grinned about the vistas and “Ah well, thank you …grazie!” and made it with
admired the lavish bathrooms. Then we set out, on foot across Ponte Sant’ Angelo all the Sabine to the rescuing elevator. She briefly went into the bathroom, I opened the win-
way down to the Pantheon. But we were not asked to look at and photograph the dows, then she sat down on the bed, quite naturally as if she knew the room well, rum-
columns, nor the antique marble floor, nor the grave of Raphael and not even the cupola maged around in her backpack, found a packet of cigarettes, didn’t smoke, talked. The
of concrete but the bricks. Because this was why we were in Rome on our class trip after stories were meandering, back and forth, without end, without a goal, restless like her
graduating. Teacher Kranz loved Roman bricks. He had them reproduced in the school gaze. Then, after ever new attempts to talk, ever new loops, curves, memories, countries,
basement, with obsessive exactness, sand from Ostia, lime from the Campagna, shells after a while, late, finally, she went to sleep. I opened the door, stretched out on one of
from the Tiber. For five days we roamed through the city, from church to church, from the plush sofas in the corridor and fell asleep despite the neon light. “Hi there!” Sabine
ruin to ruin, from palazzo to palazzo – until, finally, we reached the highlight: “Over five nudged me, in the early hours of the morning. She had had a wash; her hair was still
million Roman bricks were installed here!” Herr Kranz stretched up, pointed to decayed dripping and smelled of shampoo. “What a great bathroom.” She smiled, somewhat
pilasters and showed off his lexicon knowledge: “The entire complex of the Baths of ironically, somewhat really surprised. Then she shouldered her greasy backpack,
Caracalla measured 110,000 square metres. The cold-water bath alone was 59 metres wrapped her scarf around her hair, turned around and left, unnoticed, without waving
long, 24 metres wide and more than 20 metres high. 252 columns supported the ceilings, goodbye. The Roman traffic had quickly swallowed her up. And we, the travellers on our
120 sculptures decorated the walls. The warm-water bath was spanned by a 35 metres class trip trotted to the Palatine Hill, to the baths of Domus Area. “The brick ceilings there
wide cupola of hollow clay bricks, to this day the largest construction of this kind world- are unique”, Herr Kranz said and his cheeks were glowing with enthusiasm.

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