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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.

W hat a crazy day! No less than three important appointments, all three exhausting points to the socket next to my seat. “Yes, sure!” That’s how it starts, being old, being
and tedious, yet unavoidable. And I can’t make the last appointment. Blood addressed formally... Soon we’ll be arriving in Hannover, I’m trying to get some sleep.
sample in Berlin in the morning, visit to a retirement home in Bochum at noon, and this Or should I get off after all? The way into the village leads me to reflect on my own
private party in a village in Lower Saxony in the evening. There won’t be enough time. biography: first my former neighbour, now the world of the former neighbourhood with
The last bus in the country leaves at 7 p.m. It’s a kind invitation from a district councillor, its meticulously mown front lawns, its neatly trimmed cotoneaster beds and privet
even sent by letter. Something private. She didn’t get more specific. It sounded a bit hedges, their serially “forged” lattice gates and weed-free pebble slabs and their swim-
conspiratorial. How did I know the member of parliament? Perhaps through a film pre- ming pools in the back garden, sometimes rectangular, sometimes kidney-shaped,
miere or film discussion, a reception, a lecture – no matter, all long forgotten. Surely no sometimes architect-designed, sometimes from a DIY store, but all of them: never used.
more than a distracted conversation, a face in the crowd, between canapes and cham- Yes, I got off at Hannover and changed for the obscure party. Of course, there are no
pagne glasses and actual and self-proclaimed celebrities. She’ll be sad if I don’t come... more buses running. So, it’s a four-kilometre walk. I’ll be late anyway, so what. Past the
What a crazy day. Eight o’clock, the doctor’s appointment. Routine. Not so the surgery endless ribbon of detached houses. I once had a rage against these “bourgeois idylls”,
just opened in the noble Prenzlauerberg. The reception desk is made of backlit onyx, the against their hypocritical cleanliness. Impetuous, youthful rage. Now, in the gently
waiting room seats are Non Stop sofas from De Sede, the walls are waxed ash wood, the warm twilight, surrounded by the scent of boxwood hedges and oleander bushes – yes,
lamps are Tom Dixon, and there is lavender scent and soft background music from Bach, I admit it – I suddenly like this well-behaved respectability, even if it is only pretended.
Symphony in G major. But otherwise: routine. The endless waiting, poking at the crook At the end of my little journey, back at Hermannplatz in Neukölln, I will encounter the
of my arm, the nurse can’t find a vein, “even though it’s usually easy at your age,” the everyday riot that has become routine there. But here there is peace. Perhaps this is
slight nausea afterwards. The train to Bochum is running on time – for a change – so I’m also a first sign of old age, the will to reconcile. “Friday night and the lights are low,
missing it. At least the first appointment is done. The next ICE to the Ruhr area is, of looking out for a place to goooo...” Is my brain exaggerating with the neighbourhood
course, an hour late. It is only in the afternoon that I arrive at the nursing home in time travel, or are there really snippets of music from ABBA’s Dancing Queen wafting
Bochum. “Oh no! Dominik! You’ve got so much to do. What a surprise!” The elderly, across the street? I compare the house number with the invitation, yes, this is the place!
fragile lady tries to sit up, stops the attempt, then smiles in an effort to look cheerful. She “Oh, how nice that you could come!” The district councillor recognizes me, but I don’t
has been in a wheelchair since she fell in her garden. Before that, recognize her at first. “Have you come all the way from Berlin?” I
she was our still sprightly neighbour and, even before that, our first nod, “Yes, it’s a very special celebration!” On the terrace in the back
primary-school teacher. She was considered resolute, but “modern”, garden, under the roof of an improvised beer tent, her guests are
allowed the children freedoms, “too many”, as some parents com- sitting: the local association of her party. Friendly, older people,
plained to the headmaster at the time. “I can’t offer you anything, hardly anyone under 70, the hostess, who is perhaps 50, is the
dinner is past. If you want something to drink, there’s always tea in youngest. “Yes, it’s really great to be able to attend your local
the hallway for us old folks.” She smiles, without bitterness. She association’s anniversary...” “But no! Not an anniversary...” The
her...” She offers me a seat, I look around: a small room with a Foto: Benjamin Reding ting here at the front; our son is at the back with his mates!” I don’t
looks at me, notices my gaze on her. “Oh, so you haven’t seen me district councillor smiles knowingly. “Only we older people are sit-
like this yet, in a wheelchair. I never had a walker, you always look
know anything and she realizes. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you the
old with those, and now: a wheelchair and I can’t get out of it eit-
occasion, it’s not allowed with them. But I really wanted you to be
shower and toilet cubicle, a few pieces of furniture (wardrobe, table, two chairs. Furnis- there.” She forces herself; her voice becomes dramatic: “Our son has returned home
hings supplied by the home, robust and wipeable) and only one window, facing north, today after four years as a carpenter on the road! All his buddies came with him, 40
with a view of a high-rise building. On the walls, as the only decoration, two photos in journeymen! And even four journeywomen!” Now her voice relaxes again, becoming
frames: a young man, “You do remember him, my Nils, he was two classes above you” emphatically “youthfully” casual: “They’re in the back garden, by the pool. There’s also
and an older man (with a hat and horn-rimmed glasses in front of a detached house) beer and food there. Just follow the music.” And then, firmly: “Just don’t jump in the
“Yes, my husband, the glasses are brand new, so is our beautiful house.” It was brand pool, it’s forbidden!” The heat of the day subsides, but still echoes off the house walls
new, she probably means, her husband passed away many years ago, the house has and weed-free path slabs. I carefully step through the greenery of the unfamiliar garden,
been sold for a long time. We chat for an hour, she says several times how well she is anxiously worried about stumbling over a bird bath or lawn sprinkler. The music gets
doing here, how nice everyone is to her and that a carer pushes her to the park in front louder, no, actually it’s voices singing along loudly: “You are the dancing queen. Young
of the home from time to time. Then she sighs: “My husband, he still takes good care of and sweet, only seventeen...” Then a loud splash! And another, splash! And then there’s
the garden, doesn’t he?” I hesitate to answer, she seems restless, almost anxious, then I hooting, laughter, screaming. I’m standing by the pool. Again, someone jumps into the
say: “Yes, of course.” She smiles, relieved. On the way to the lift, I wonder: will you also DIY-store rectangle from the edge of the pool. Almost everyone here is naked, everyone
end up in “permanent inpatient care”, being put to bed at seven o’clock in the evening, drinks beer, everyone sings along: “See that girl, watch that scene, dig it: the dancing
in a home with rooms, corridors and hallways that resemble a closed psychiatric ward, queen...” “Hey Dom!” A journeywoman recognizes me, waves to me, “Cool that you’re
a closed psychiatric ward in a bad film? Suddenly I feel old. Ancient. It’s still as bright as here!” Then she jumps into the pool too. Splash! A fellow apprentice picks her up and
day outside, a gentle, caressing late summer afternoon. It’s too late to make the trip to carries her on his shoulders through the pool and the surging crowd. The last rays of the
rural Lower Saxony. On the ICE train back to Berlin, huddled on my seat in the frozen sunset bathe the scene in a soft, reddish light, then the approaching night covers the
compartment, I see her again in my mind’s eye, my primary-school teacher at the coming hours in friendly discretion. One of the carpenters in the pool discovers me, calls
blackboard, cheerful, resolute, ambitious. And us, her six-year-old pupils, looking at to me with a large, inviting gesture: “Come on, jump in!” And sees my hesitation. “Come
her, full of wonder and expectation. “May I charge my phone here, sir?” A young soldier on! Be brave, jump! You’re still young!” Splash, the water gurgles on all sides.

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