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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.

An Essay by Dominik Reding
I wanted to talk about it. But I was not allowed. Now it is all over and done with. It’s for three space suits, 100 dowels, five beef brains, fresh. “Very similar to human brains,
time-barred. Now I am allowed to talk: I walked past the bank branch every day. For
wonderfully slippery,” so the “boss”. I got the dowels in the DIY market, the silver fabric
two weeks. At the Hamburg-Sternschanze Station, where I changed to the suburban rail- at a tailor shop. And the beef brains? I inquired at a butcher’s. The answer was a shake
way line to Hamburg-Rahlstedt. At eight in the morning, and around ten at night. A small of the head. “No one wants something like that anymore. Try at the slaughterhouse.” “Beef
bank branch, which seemed a bit fallen out of time. Grey tiles and display windows with brains are all gone. But you can have pig brains.” The butcher opened the cold room door.
a golden frame. Only the adverts were up-to-date: “High yields also in volatile times at the “How much are they?” He grinned and put brains in a plastic bag: “It’s for free.”
stock exchange! Our premium shares portfolio with flat-rate remuneration!” That’s what I “Action!” The first scene was very simple. The Japanese actor should play a Korean astro-
needed. Flat-rate remuneration. As allowance for my final film at the art college. Shooting naut and cut the “alien’s brain” with a scalpel. That’s what the script said. “Take one!”,
is so expensive. But I did not have a “shares portfolio with flat-rate remuneration”. I had the “boss” shouted. The Japanese actor pushed the scalpel into the stuff in front of him,
nothing. And that’s why I was sitting in the suburban railway towards Rahlstedt. At the which was remotely reminded of a shrivelled cauliflower. “Stop! The lighting isn’t good,”
destination of my trip it smelled of plastic adhesive, spotlights, fresh paint, and hard work. called the cameraman. The lighting was changed. “Take two!” Then the table was shaking.
Here, on the edge of the city, in the side wing of a large printing shop we pottered around: “Take three!” The microphone was in the picture. “Take four!” The actor dropped the
me and the other hopeful young people. The son of the owner of the printing shop, freshly scalpel. “Take five!” The first break was made after Take 22. I took the “brain plate” and
graduated in business studies, shot films, privately, for fun, for glory and honour and for finally put it into the fridge. “Stoooop!” I stopped. “This needs continuity! No one touches
the dream of Hollywood. His father sponsored it, and every now and then he also financed the plate! Not before everything is completed!” However, it was still not completed after
the final film projects of our film class. That’s why I helped out. That’s why everyone four days. At first, it only smelled a bit like old liverwurst. On the second day, the whole
helped out. It was supposed to be a future film: studio stank of it, on the third day, the smell
“Invasion from Space”. With the command cockpit caused vomiting reflexes. We struggled, we
of a spaceship serving as shooting location. A shin- thought of the sponsoring, we suppressed the
ing floor was very important to the young filmmak- reflexes. And so did the Japanese actor. He poked
er. “As in the movie Alien,” he explained. A shining his scalpel into the greenish mass again and
floor. That’s easier said than done. For us assis- again. As stoically as maybe only Japanese can do
tants this meant to firmly fix 500 wooden stamps it. Cold sweat dripped from my forehead. Stop
to the halls’ concrete floor, cut 200 perforated thinking of the smell, stop thinking of it. Late in
metal plates and wire 600 neon lamps. Obviously, the evening, I was again changing trains at the
the hectically set up schedule was thrown out of its Sternschanze Station. I breathed in and out, in
joints after a few days. “Do you know anyone who and out. Fresh air, what a luxury. I entered a café.
could help as well?“ the young filmmaker asked One table was still vacant. I ordered a coke, I fell
me. And he added under his breath: “I would actu- asleep over my drink. And woke up again. People
ally pay him.” I thought, I pondered. Yes, I knew running, emergency lights, screaming. A demon-
someone: The house was not far from the stration march squashed its way along the narrow
Reeperbahn. One of these old buildings investors street. “Stop the rental madness!” And right in the
are really keen on. Buying cheap, renting it out, middle of the demonstration: Zorroo with two O.
leaving it empty, selling it on at a profit. There were He did not run, he did not scream. He stood there,
no entrance doors and window panes anymore, smoked with relish, and juggled with balls.
but there still was a staircase. As crocked as a Foto: Benjamin Reding Finally, the police arrived, with teargas and water
Tyrolean farmhouse. The electrical wires were gun vehicles. Suddenly, the tables were gone,
stolen, doors to the apartments were bricked up, used as part of the barricades. Stones were
except for one, right up in the attic. One could see the sky - blue and wintery clear – thrown, Molotov cocktails burnt. And the bank, the small branch bank at the junction, was
because the roof tiles were missing. And lying underneath, wrapped in a stained sleeping caught between the fronts. The first golden display window broke, then the second and
bag on a stained mattress: Zorroo. “Hey cool!” Zorroo peeped out of his sleeping bag. the third. And then, through the thick plumes of teargas, I had the impression I saw Zorroo
“Cool that you stop by.” Zorroo with two O, as he once told me. “I got the second O as a climbing into the bank through a broken window. “Wrrrommm!“ A water jet from a water
birthday present”. The house was not squatted. People do not squat a ruin, definitely not gun vehicle hit the front window of the café. I got the jitters, I bolted. My phone rang in
in winter, at minus eight degrees. He simply lived there. Because it did not cost any rent, the middle of the night. My “boss” called. The Japanese had come down with an illness.
and even the police did not come round, at least not often. “Do you want to earn some The shooting would definitely be resumed. Very soon.” “Are you still continuing our spon-
money?” A friendly murmur sounded from the sleeping bag. “Painting walls, laying floor soring ...?“ But he had already hung up. In spring, the breeze was warm and scented, and
panels?” An undecided grumble sounded from the sleeping back. “Every day from eight as I was not working on my final film I had plenty of time, I met Zorroo again. In a park,
in the morning to ten at night.” A joyless “Uh ...” sounded from the sleeping bag. No other not far from the demolished bank branch. He sat in the grass, smoke, juggled with balls.
comment followed. I put down the filmmaker’s business card next to the mattress and “Tell me, Zorroo, this bank, do you have anything to do with it, do you?” He looked at me,
slipped out of the room across the icy floorboards. Of course, he did not turn up. But the thought about it, very seriously, frowning. “I didn’t find the bank vault. But I discovered a
first actor arrived, a Japanese, according to the young filmmaker a star in Japan. The young bottle of whiskey in the desk of the director. And six cartons of cigarettes.” He held out a
filmmaker now had himself called “boss” and I was handed a list, a to-do list: silver fabric cigarette pack to me and smiled: “Here, would you like one?”

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