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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.

N eukölln is great! That’s what everyone says. Especially those who call it “X-Kölln”, i.e.: with 300 metres of glass passage and art by Markus Lüpertz. “Patients can stroll around
there, like in a museum. A hospital on the level of a spa hotel,” praised one critic. The
Kreuzkölln. The young, hip, international travelling bohemians. Night after night they
besiege the clubs, bars, restaurants between the old Berlin working-class districts of Kreuz- emergency room sign now pointed exactly there: to the glass passage. On the former “pro-
berg and Neukölln. Mostly they speak in English, but also in Spanish, Italian, now and then menade”, the beds were parked close together, all occupied. It smelled of faeces, puddles of
Polish or Czech about their latest trips, exhibitions, fashion shows. Like Léon. Léon from urine on the marble floor. And from everywhere: moaning, muttering, swearing. No Leon.
Uruguay. Who exhibits his art in Berlin. Photos of drag kings from Montevideo’s under- “He’s just been taken away,” an overburdened nurse gave the grumpy information. “Psych-
ground. I didn‘t know him or his art, but I was invited to the opening. And I went. A grey iatric ward, building 4.” “Why? It was an accident.” “Well, you never know with diabe-
September day, a group exhibition in a small “insider tip” gallery in the Schöneberg district. tics...”. Sensing my discomfort, she followed up with, “He can leave whenever he wants, it’s
Monochrome colour cubes on the left, expressive line ecstasies on the right and, in between, all up to him.” On the way to building 4, through the cluttered, dirty corridors once praised
in ornate gold frames, Léon’s drag kings. Léon stood nervously at the entrance. “Welcome!” as architectural art, I was struck by a thought: something is wrong in our society and it’s not
He said it to every visitor, including me, in German. “My grandparents are from Tübingen,” the architects who are to blame. “Now put on your mask!” The head nurse told me. Léon
he explained. And then, smiling, “Learnt, un poco.” He looked like many young men of the was lying in the ward corridor, in a hospital bed. “Yes, the four-bed rooms are still occu-
hip traveller scene: thin moustache and monk’s hairdo, his sides short, his hair combed pied”. “But he’s a diabetic, he has to take care of himself.” “Well, that’s still for us to deci-
neatly into his forehead at the front. He asked me about the art scene in Berlin and my de.” She looked at me. “You are?” “His acquaintance who called the ambulance.” Léon saw
profession. I knew the Spanish, remote-sounding word and said it: “Película!” “Ah, film!” me, waved exhaustedly over, looking sedated. “How long do you expect him to be here?”
Léon grinned and happily rattled off hundreds of film titles. “Me gustan películas!” Sudden- “Until we decide he’s better!” She smiled, iron-fisted. Two beefy orderlies stepped in,
ly the gallery went quiet, visitors stared at their phones, many left. “What‘s going on?”, I whispering. Quietly I spoke to Léon: “Tell me, do you really want to be here?” He shook his
asked Léon. He pointed to his smartphone: “Breaking news: Queen Elizabeth II is dead”. He head. “No...” “Ok, then put this on.” I gave him the trousers, shirt and trainers, turning to
shook his head. “I thought she would live forever,” I sighed, and then, “Do you know Kreuz- the nurse, “My acquaintance has changed his mind. We will leave now. Thank you for your
kölln?” “Of course, that’s where I live!” Now the sadness was gone, “Oh, offer of help.” Without reply, she trudged into her glassed-in ward room.
muy bueno! Everyone talks about it in Montevideo. Show it to me! Por “Clack!” The front doors of the ward closed. I looked at León, slowly like a
favor! Yes?!” With that, the evening began. We took the underground to spaceman he pulled on his trousers. I went to the emergency exit, jiggled
Hermannplatz and wandered through a handful of hip clubs. Later, after it, that too: locked. I went to the ward headquarters. Hastily the door
various Vodka Mules and Hefeweizen, he went to the toilet. He did it slammed shut: locked. “What’s going on?!” One of the beefy orderlies
often. But who can stomach Vodka Mule and Bavarian beer? I asked about called out to me, standing demonstratively in front of the exit door. “I want
the drag kings, the nightlife, his life in Montevideo. His answers, at first to speak to the ward physician.” My voice trembled. “She’s off today.” The
ordered a new one. And dropped that glass as well. It slipped from his Foto: Benjamin Reding pulled out my mobile phone, “We’re going! I’m going to call Ms Stein now,
humorous and shrewd, became erratic; now I saw that he was shaking, orderly grinned. Staying calm now, with a deliberately casual gesture, I
sweating profusely. Had he taken the wrong drugs? Then Léon dropped his
State Secretary in the Federal Ministry of Education, I’ve known her since
beer glass, bent down, rummaged excitedly for the shards, laboriously
talkie, pressed a button. Then the head nurse reappeared, coolly said I
hand that was completely powerless. “You’re going to crash at my place, my school days.” (Which was true). The beefiest orderly took his walkie-
okay?” The short walk home turned out to be long, his gait shaky, his legs, his whole body was free to go, but alone. Léon had his trousers almost on, now he was lacing up his shoes,
seemed to lose all grip. Then, upstairs in my flat, when I asked him to go to sleep, he sud- slow-motion-slow. I pressed against the door to check, it remained locked. It became surre-
denly convulsed, tore off his jacket, chaotically, the contents of his pockets falling to the al, I got scared. Real, great, abysmal fear. Was I supposed to become aggressive after all? I
floor: passport, money, EC cards and an oblong, narrow object. An insulin pen. He saw that suppressed my trembling, demonstratively calmly typed the number into the mobile phone,
I saw it, grinned confusedly: “Soy diabético”, then he became quite serious, “Mistake made, listened. The head nurse was watching me, intensely, torn between omnipotence and the
too much.... insulin”, and slumped down. Fainted. Emergency call! “A diabetic incident, possibility of losing her job. I put all my eggs in one basket: “She’s answering!” (Which
please, come quickly!” Neukölln on a Friday. How long would it take? But already after a wasn’t true). The head nurse ran off in the direction of ward headquarters. Suddenly,
few minutes a ring at the door: a purposeful emergency doctor and two level-headed para- “Clack”, I heard the locks burst open, grabbed Léon, whispered, “Out, now!” and, sure
medics “Yes, it was quick. The dead queen is sweeping the streets, everyone’s watching TV,” enough, the door opened, Léon staggered towards the exit. “Don’t turn around!” But I did:
said the doctor, immediately kneeling by Léon’s side, injecting glucose, testing his blood the head nurse was frantically talking on the phone; the orderlies ran to her. Where was the
sugar, following up, three, four injections. He came to for a brief moment, looked at in lift? Where was the main exit? On the ground floor, the emergency exit doors were being
distress. She tested again, then to the two paramedics, “He needs to go to hospital, intensi- painted, one stood open: That one! Just keep a low profile! Just straight through to the main
ve care, now!” and to me, “We’ll call you.” Glucose catheter, stretcher, laborious walk down gate, which – oh no! – closed electrically. The magic frontier was getting closer, closer, closer.
the old-building stairwell, she hurriedly told me the hospital, then they sped away with blue Just one more step: outside! “God bless you please, Mrs Robinson!” Suddenly I had this
lights down the empty streets. Upstairs, in the flat, silence. Only the sheets soaked in sweat music in my head and this film scene. The two newly unmarried people on the run. In the
and the empty needles. The silence remained. No phone call. I called. “No, you can’t come, film, rescue comes: a bus. A bus must come here too, please, like in the film. A bus came! I
he‘s still being transferred, our intensive-care unit is full.” Morning dawned, again I called, had no ticket, Léon had no money. The bus driver kindly let us pass without paying for a
new shift new doctor, “Léon? Léon who? Yes, he’s still here, yes still in the emergency room. ticket. At home at long last, back in my flat, I put Léon to bed, fed him, made us coffee. He
All the intensive-care units are occupied, all over Berlin. How is he? Well, better.” I drove woke up, finally. “It was like a film, come un película,” he said. “First The Queen, then One
there. Hastily packed a few things, T-shirt, trousers, trainers. I knew the hospital. It used to Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and finally The Graduate and all together: Fear and Loathing
be famous. A “new building” from the 1980s with a big architect’s name. A silvery giant thing in Neukölln.” That’s when he laughed. Loud and boisterous. The first time since last night.

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