Photo by Sigrid Malmgren
Pet peeve alert in overdrive. I picked up my Berlinale bag yesterday – let's just say we won't see these for years in Berlin's cityscape, like others in the past which were just as ugly, but much more sturdy. Last year's one, in fact, was so sturdy you could hardly open it, and when the flap finally flipped, it more often than not landed in your face with a loud plastic splotching sound.
The ones for this year don't even have a flap! The tiniest snowflake, and slosh – there goes your program, melted to a pulp. They're basically a swatch of the cheapest cotton available (organic, if you believe that), folded in half and held together by a zipper of the most dubious quality.
The weight of a single ticket is probably enough to tear them apart. I bet they aren't color-fast either and will leave a blue mark after moving back and forth across journalistic hinds for a couple of days. At least journalists get them for free – the official store has the gall to ask €15 for one. At least there are finally films to look forward to, starting with True Grit at lunchtime.