Life. What a load of crap, huh. Even when everything’s okay, it’s still pretty shitty. Even when everything’s okay, you still feel totally empty and hollow and alone half the time. Even when everything’s okay, you still have to do the washing-up, clean the bathroom, take the rubbish down, wake up in the morning. Even when everything’s okay, it’s still, let’s be honest, FAIRLY CRAP. And then Thilo Sarrazin writes a book.
Maybe I am mentally ill, I mean, maybe I am, this is a serious possibility we really will have to consider at some point, but, basically, whenever I read anything that cunt has to say about anything I just want to kill myself. I really do. In the bath or something. It’s only the pain that stops me, well, the pain and the fact that I’ll probably have changed my mind in the morning. Everything he says makes me feel slightly shittier, every single statement that comes out of his ugly mouth just makes me want to throw in the towel on my entire fucking life, well, maybe not throw it in, maybe just hang it from the ceiling and use it as a noose. Well, everything apart from that bit about the tracky bottoms, that was a bit true, I thought, there’s a granny in our block of flats who goes to the supermarket in her pyjamas, but everything else, from radiators to radishes, just makes me want to actually kill myself.
Also, incidentally, since when has selling fruit and vegetables been an insult? I didn’t get that memo. Sie sind doch Gesund! I mean, maybe I just never realized how poor my upbringing was, but at my school we laughed at people whose dads were dustmen, whose mums were lollipop ladies, whose nans were alcoholic and that was it. Greengrocers, man, they were okay. Nothing shameful about that, people will always need broccoli. Na, ja. I’m sure Thilo even put a bit of broccoli on his Hartz-IV diet plan. A quarter of a floret of broccoli, every second Thursday, something like that. And on Christmas Day three extra leaves of salad, just so everyone can really, really, REALLY enjoy themselves!
Anyways, to cheer us all up, I started thinking about my five favourite Berlin-based films. And here they are. Coz Sarrazin’s not gonna go away, so we’d better just turn off the fucking telly:
1) Run Lola Run God, I loved this film when I was 19. I think, really, to be honest, if I am going to be honest, and I think I should be, you guys have known me for so long by now, well, this was probably the reason I decided to move to Berlin for my “Year Abroad”. I watched it again a few years’ later and God, I was disappointed. It’s a crappy Berlin version of Sliding Doors and that’s it. And I hated Lola, I hated her, running to her daddy for money like a little princess or typical German person in their zweite Ausbildung. I watched it with a German friend and we kept on looking at each other and sighing and tutting and shaking our heads disapprovingly and going: “Actually, I find this moment quite unconvincing and problematic to be honest.” Every now and again there’d be a lovely shot of Moritz and we’d steal knowing glances at each other, and whisper, out the sides of our mouths: “I’m finding this bit slightly less problematic… actually this isn’t problematic at all…”
2) The Legend of Paul and Paula Don’t bother watching it without a German person sitting next to you, explaining to you exactly what THE FUCK is going on. You’ll need them. Apparently, you aren’t meant to think she is a slag AT ALL for sending her three-year-old to the cinema and letting him get run over. Not at all. And you know that bit when those women are talking about how the baby’s dead, and saying to each other: “Did you tell her it wasn’t her fault?” “Yeah, but I don’t think she believed me.” They are not being ironic, they actually think it wasn’t her fault. I know, my head kind of exploded as well. And isn’t Paul gorgeous? Even less problematic than Moritz.
3) Goodbye Lenin God, it’s tacky. It really is. And with that silly music in the background playing the whole time, it’s about as bad as Inception. But fuck, it’s ENJOYABLE tack and it’s just lovely when Alex goes to his dad’s house in Zehlendorf and watches Sandman and his dad goes: “Al-ex?” I can literally cry just thinking about it. There’s a serious lack of Gylf* in this film, though, sadly. Daniel Brühl is a lovely lad but he’s about as sexy as that kid who used to be in the Oxo adverts. The shaky alcoholic headmaster is sexier than him. His dad’s sexier than him! Actually, his dad’s not bad, is he? Let’s be honest. We wouldn’t chuck him out of bed for eating biscuits, although, coz he’s German, he probably wouldn’t be eating biscuits in bed in the first place.
4) One, Two, Three This is a brilliant film, it really is. Words cannot express how perfect this film is. It’s beautiful. Go and watch it now. And check out Horst Buchholz. Hmmmmmmn.
5) Christiane F. Some of the dialogue is hilarious. “Where have you been?” “I’ve been getting clean.” “Oh, I wondered why I hadn’t seen you around.” “Maybe you should get clean?” “Oh, that’s a good idea, but I just bought all this heroin. I’ll do it after I’ve taken that.” “Okay. Erm, maybe I should have some of your heroin too? But I’ll still be clean, really.” “That’s a good idea. And after that we could go and suck off some 50-year-old!”
So what are your favourite Berlin-based films? And what are the worst ones? I thought Knallhart was pretty awful, personally.
*GYLF = German you would like to fuck. You pronounce it GILF, but it’s spelt GYLF. Just so you know.