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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.

A rchitecture is something horrible.” Wenzel was leaning against the concrete the window at the evening rush-hour traffic, at the motorway access, at the streak of the
car headlights. “I will quit. After the semester break, it will be over.” He said it softly, to
balustrade, stared at a high-rise residential building which looked like an Arc de
Triomphe carelessly assembled of precast concrete parts. “One more high-rise develop- himself. “What will?” I hadn’t really been listening, getting a blanket and a book ready
ment like this and I shall vomit.” It sounded quite credible. He left it at the announce- for the night. “What will be over?” He hesitated, looked out of the bus window, then he
ment. “Everybody back to the bus. The next high-rise development is the Cité des Tours said: “Nothing … sleep well.” I didn’t have any idea about the Baroque, knew nothing
Aillaud.” Professor Marg shouted with his always firm and energetic voice which left no about small Franconian towns, nothing about prince-bishops and their gardens and
doubt that he was capable of planning and building stations, stadiums, airports, yes summer residence; knew nothing about the marble coolness of Franconian town
entire cities, even a new much better high-rise city. Wenzel shook his head and was the churches, nothing about the stony warmth of decayed fortress walls, nothing about the
last to get up into the bus. It was the second country and the third high-rise development stolid dignity of baroque burgher houses, nothing about statues of St Mary on house
today and the fourth country and the sixth high-rise development since we had started façades, nothing about the fragrance of old fruit-tree avenues, nothing about orangeries,
the journey. Wenzel sat down on the seat next to me which I didn’t like. Wenzel was boxwood hedges, crunching gravel paths, stoically smiling sandstone putti. Then we
special. Wenzel von der Eulenburg. The name alone already sounded invented, like a came to Eichstätt. Still in the bus at night, Mr Marg had announced it: “Tomorrow we
writer’s pseudonym. Wenzel always wore a traditional Bavarian jacket, one of those like will visit Eichstätt and the diocesan master builder Karljosef Schattner in his planning
perhaps the mountain infantry in Oberammergau would put on for the Oktoberfest, and office.” And Wenzel had mumbled “Building and authority? So that’s how it is …” and
metal-rimmed spectacles with plain glass. He had thin, long, brown hair which hung pulled the blanket over his head. The architect and his team resided under the roof of
into his face like a curtain, very freckled, very his planning office. A baroque burgher build-
white skin and two small eyes which looked ing with an ornate plaster façade and an
criticizing. It was said that, while working, he entrance door set into the old façade and
exclusively listened to Mozart or to Heavy designed by Mr Schattner. It looked as if hewn
Metal. One would have liked to be amused by from a single block of marble, flawless in the
him but he was too clever, too talented to sim- craftsmanship. “Wow”, I called out and und
ply laugh him off. His designs were the most peeped across at Wenzel to see whether he
un-buildable, most utopian and the best of the liked it as well. He looked at the door, for a
term: A housing development was to be long time, but didn’t draw it. Architect
accessed by a zeppelin on rails, an opera house Schattner was disfigured. A burn injury from
to be anchored in the air with helium balloons. the Second World War. We didn’t quite know
But what he could do even better than design- where to look. Mr Schattner no doubt was
ing was drawing. He always had a sketchbook accustomed to this. Only Wenzel calmly
with him and, whenever he discovered archi- looked at him. Mr Schattner talked about the
tecture that convinced him, his pencil was buildings in Eichstätt, the old and the new, and
dancing across the pages. That was what he only at the end also about his own designs. He
had done on our architecture excursion to softly talked about his work, it didn’t sound
Brussels, in front of the art nouveau Palais energetic, not sure but hesitant, unfinished,
Stoclet and earlier in Barcelona, in front of the searching. Then, it was already getting dark,
Sagrada Familia with its proliferating madness. we went for a meal. Mr Marg invited us. He
There we also visited the first high-rise develop- Foto: Benjamin Reding laughed, joked, recommended baked carp
ment, on the outskirts of the city, rigorously with asparagus salad and Sommeracher
placed into the karstic scenery. Strict geometry Katzenkopf as a wine to go with it. He praised
in board-marked concrete, with “skywalks” on the upper floors, wild zigzag stairs in the construction details by his Eichstätt colleagues, then talked about his own projects.
front of the entrances and free-standing elevator towers. Architecture with a claim, Stadiums, town halls, power stations. At one of his jokes, I sat up straight because I was
Spanish grandeza. “Powerful!” I commented. But once one got closer, the stairwells thinking and hoping that he had looked across at me and only then did I notice that the
smelt of urine and burn marks in the elevator hallways were evidence of nocturnal play- seat next to me was empty, that Wenzel was missing. Well, where could he be? He was
ing with fire. Wenzel sat down on the steps, smoked, played with autumn leaves, didn’t certainly on the toilet or having a smoke. But he didn’t come back again. I got up and
draw anything. And now Paris! In a car park behind Boulevard Périphérique, we got off went to look for him. The small town was now quiet. The echo of my footsteps louder
the bus. The Tours Aillaud were circular, their façades colourful and the windows drop- than the distant bubbling of the fountains from the gardens. I looked at the town church
shaped. But it smelt of urine in the hallways and there were burn marks traces on the but its doors were closed; I looked around the park but only saw the tree tops that the
walls like in Barcelona. Wenzel stood, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, and autumn wind was shaking. I became scared, I heard my fast breathing. Or something
didn’t draw anything. In the bus later on, Mr Marg praised the symbolic quality of the else? A noise, like a distant, slight scratching? I hurried up, I ran and stopped: Wenzel
towers, the good connection to the local transport, criticized the problematic access, the was standing in the square facing the planning office. He was drawing the door jambs
difficult layouts accepted for the overall form, he talked about traffic routes, gross floor which looked like they had been hewn from a block of marble. His pencil was dancing
areas, construction costs and summed up: “Architecture is always also the art of what is across the pages and he was murmuring, softly but firmly: “Architecture is something
feasible.” I nodded. Wenzel, on the seat next to me, appeared to doze, he stared out of wonderful.” I exhaled deeply and was no longer worried about his future.

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