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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.

Y ou buy your ticket at the counter. No need to have a number assigned by a ma- sleeping, the earphones of his MP3 player in his ears. His long hair, like a curtain in
chine first. There is no queue either, you are being served at once. You need no
front of the closed eyes, swung slowly back and forth with the movement of the car-
rail card, no reservation. You go to the platform but you are neither hauling your lug- riage. Next to the model guy was a businessman, accurately dressed, sitting straight,
gage yourself nor pulling it in a trolley behind you, you put it on a little cart and easily brushed and combed, completely different. Or no, actually like the other man in 20,
push it ahead of you. You are travelling on the night train, of course there is still one 30 years: business shirt, reading glasses, MacBook. On the table, stored in leather
running, long after 11 p.m., to a medium-sized town. You are looking for a compart- cases, a writing set, a pocket calculator and a briefcase. The cases arranged according
ment, one just for you, not a cramped open-plan carriage. Many compartments are to size. He was typing incessantly, from Berlin to Frankfurt, and only stopped exactly
unoccupied. You may choose. You take an empty one because you are tired. In there, twice. The first time to eat a peach he took out of a Tupperware container and cut
you are able to control the lighting and the temperature and you may even open the into six equally large pieces with a folding knife; and the second time, which surpri-
window! Inhaling the fresh outside air, letting the wind blow through your hair, wat- sed me, to lick a lolly, exactly one of those which, wrapped in crackling film, one used
ching the scenery flitting past. And you may smoke, if you absolutely want to. Later, to get from a sweets vending machine. There were altogether numerous men sitting
you push the seat down, close the compartment curtains, turn out the light and lie in the carriage, almost exclusively, but there was, thank God, no bachelor party, no
down to sleep. And your last sigh before you fall asleep will be: “Oh, what a joy it is football fan club, just a large number of men and an elderly lady in the seat opposite
to travel!” Does that sound like a fairy-tale? By no means. This is how journeys by the model guy and the businessman who smilingly texted on her smartphone. I wan-
train used to be until the change of the millen- ted to pull down the little table in front of me –
nium. And these were not even “premium”, which was not successful, it was stuck, – and
“comfort”, “deluxe”, “special edition” or extra so put my book down on my knees. “Waa-
tours, it was simply travelling 2nd class. Over aahh!” The baby began to scream. “Waaaahh,
and out! Thus after all the customer optimiza- waaaahh, waaaah!” Oh, this is going to last for
tions, service advances, line improvements, some time! I started to worry but the young fat-
railway reforms, after all the rail cards and on- her walked once up and down the aisle with
line tickets, after flex-, budget- and super eco- his child and the little one calmed down. I lea-
nomy prices, they are now sitting backrest to fed through the pages of the book. “Hack,
backrest in the open-plan carriage, their lug- hack, hack!” The elderly lady coughed. The
gage between their knees because, once model guy woke up. First blissfully dozy, then
again, there is no room in the overhead com- surly he looked over at the coughing lady like
partment. And they are sitting in the wrong a young lion whom a cheeky bird had kept
seats because, once again, the electronic seat from his nap. “It’s not a cold, just allergies”,
reservation display does not work. In compen- the old lady explained without anyone having
sation, they are allowed to participate in the asked her and then, into the silence: “I have all
lives of their fellow travellers, in the imme- the medications with me.” The model guy
diate proximity of their bodies, their smells stretched, scrutinized from the corner of his
and their noises. A week ago, I took the inter- eyes – his coolness wouldn’t allow more – the
city express from Berlin to Stuttgart. Not on a human content of the carriage and, since he
public holiday, not at the end of vacations, not Foto: Benjamin Reding could not discover anyone of equal attractive-
on a trade-fair day, not during a storm, not du- ness, he once again firmly plugged the earpho-
ring work being done on the line, not during a nes into his ears and closed his eyes. I no lon-
heatwave. Of course, the open-plan carriage was nevertheless fully occupied. I had ger read my book, I looked out of the train window: the sky, little clouds next to little
no reservation, I was looking for a free seat, found it, sat down, stored the luggage clouds, artificial, like in a painting by René Magritte, Ce N’est Pas le Ciel. And below
between my knees and wanted to read, a bulky volume, a bestseller, quickly bought the sky the German landscape: autobahn, power pole, wind turbine, suburb settle-
at the station. I put the seat into the reclining position, leaned back and, before I ment, saddle roofs. A man got up, right at the back of the carriage. Tall, wrestler’s
would sink into the text, briefly looked up again. “Baaah”, “brrbrrr”, “booboo”. A shoulders, carpenter’s hands. But the man was not a carpenter, didn’t want to be one.
young man was taking a picture of himself and his child, he carried it wrapped in a It was a transsexual woman. She walked upright through the carriage, a spot of colour
sling against his breast, still a baby, no older than ten, eleven months. It was babbling in a flowered dress, between the grey-blue of the suits and the sports clothing. She
and looked up at dad and dad look looked straight into the lens of his smartphone, was looked at, not gawked at. Maybe that was why she was travelling on the intercity
at first still with the usual smile for the camera but then, when the child extended out express. “Our next stop is Stuttgart”. The too loud announcement left no doubt. I was
its little hands towards him, beaming, overwhelmed and stunned by the good fortune cold, the air-conditioning had simulated Russian winter days. After four hours of an-
of having a child of his own. I opened my book. “We will! We will! Rock you!” From gled immobility, my legs had gone numb. The model guy looked up grouchily and
somewhere boomed this distinctive beat. The old Queen song. I looked around. Only then retreated into himself again. The baby in the sling whooped, its father caressed
now did I notice the two men at the table for four in the row next to me. One of them, it. Undoubtedly, it would later remember the train journey of its childhood with nost-
at the window, handsome like a model for sports clothes, which he also wore, was algia. I closed the book, not having read a single line.

AIT 11.2019 • 055