We're in Algeria now and having lots of interesting adventures. Unfortunately the internet is unpredictable and we probably won't be able to do much blogging. We will, however, upload photos whenever we can - you can view them on my Picasa album.
This was a busy week for me, but ended on an exciting note when we received a package in the mail from A.'s parents in Wyoming. The box contained all sorts of wonderful treats including rice krispie bars, cookies, and several meaty substances that are called 'jerky' (I think there was bison, elk, and something else) where we're from.
The most interesting part of the gift, though, were the two issues of the local Cheyenne newspaper from two dates in November. This newspaper is not known for its brilliant reporting (or its attention to spelling and grammar), but the most shocking thing about it was the headlining story in the 'To do' section on one of those days: "How to purchase your child his first gun".
Now I know that some of you (or at least CBAM) are major gun enthusiasts, so I thought you might benefit from this important information. Or at least you can investigate a new graduate student hobby!
So here are the steps they suggest:
1. "Take your child to the store to have the gun fitted." Apparently the shooting instructor for the Wyoming 4-H they interviewed said that this was not what parents like to hear with Christmas coming up, but you should definitely make sure the gun is the proper size and fit. Oddly, these are the same rules for buying hiking boots.
2. "If possible, start with an air rifle." (You'll shoot your eye out!)
3. "When buying a rifle with a scope make sure the child doesn't have to raise their head to look through the scope." I don't think any commentary is needed on this point.
4. "Check out youth models. Many of the major gun manufacturers carry models with shorter stocks, so you don't have to worry about cutting down grandad's old gun." Ummm... yikes!
5. "For shotguns, fit is everything." In this point, we also find out that "shotgunning is opposite of using a rifle." I didn't even know "shotgunning" was a word!
6. "Watch the recoil on shotguns (the same holds true for rifles). While semi-automatic shotguns may be heavier, they also have less recoil." Our 4-H expert says that "gas powered semi-automatic shotguns will have the least recoil. They may be a little more expensive, but they will help keep your child from being beat up by the stock of the gun." Ok now, maybe it's just me, but do you really want to buy your child a Christmas present that has the potential to "beat them up" and also the potential to kill everyone around?
7. "For beginning rifle shooters, don't go above a 22." What sort of gun did you use on your first time out CBAM?
8. "Get involved in a club." This one might be a little trickier if you're not near a 4-H club, but my guess is that if you ask the guys at the Highland Park gun shop, they may be able to help you out...
Now in all fairness, sometimes you may need a large gun to keep those baaaaars away (see the Stephen Colbert Christmas special for an important example).
One does wonder, though, whether Dick Cheney's parents followed these important rules when buying his first gun. Or maybe he got kicked out of 4-H when he started shooting people in the face (A.'s comment: "What you think this lawyer was the first person he shot in the face? I'm not convinced it was").
A. was trolling around NPR like a good public radio junkie and found a link to this amazing story.
If you listen to the story, you will discover that there was recently a contest among scientists called the "Dance your PhD" competition, in which scientists, postdocs, and PhD students created a 5 or so minute interpretive dance of their dissertation, videotaped it, and posted it on YouTube. Here are some of the fine examples:
My personal favorite was not among the winners, but was the runner-up in the Graduate Student category, titled "Hydrodynamic Trail Detection in Marine Organisms" by Christin Murphy. She will be a tough one to follow, what with the flaming hula hoops and shark ribbon-skyflying-Cirque du Soleil thing.
I am feeling very inspired by this little contest, and a bit put out that it was limited to "scientists" only. As you may know, I am a huge fan of the interpretive dance, losing all sense of inhibition and propriety when I spot a lonely dance floor and any type of music.
Therefore, I am hoping to convince YOU, my fellow historians, to join me in creating our own interpretive dances of our dissertations. I am already planning mine - it will include some sort of simulated torture scene (anyone want to be fake waterboarded?) with some Christians coming in to rescue the torture victims and refugees starving to death in French concentration camps.
I feel that with the variety of interesting topics we have come up with (including yours CBAM! I really feel you could make some drama out of your religious conflicts!), we can produce some amazing interpretive dance, and publicize our dissertations at the same time!
It's D again, taking back my blog and finishing up the saga of our Berlin trip. Sorry it has taken so long! Since the Berlin trip we made a journey up to the North of France and Belgium for a research trip (historical research for me, beer research for A). It was a pretty nice trip, but the best part was definitely the beer, the food made with beer, and the waffles. Not much beats an authentic Belgian waffle! It was nice to go back to Brussels after my time in EU sleep-away camp last Spring, but the weather was very gloomy. Someday soon we will post about the beer.
Anyway, now we're back in Paris and this week I dove headfirst into doing some oral history. It was very traumatic beforehand, mostly because of my extreme fear of talking to people, and in particular of talking to people in a foreign language for hours and hours. But my subject was very nice and fixed me lunch (un pique-nique, she said, after she brought out several cold salads, foie gras, cheese, fruit, wine, etc.), and endless cups of tea. And she told me lots of things that are making me rethink my diss. Now that I think about, I'm still a bit traumatized, especially since I promised myself I would have something written before BS descends on Paris in a few weeks. She may kill me if I have nothing to show.
It seems so long ago, but the lovely Berlin trip has been brought back up thanks to the fact that we have discovered all the Life magazine photographs (free for your perusal on the interwebs), and there are so many amazing photos of post-WWII Berlin. Plus I haven't yet told you about the Stasi museums, the films, the flea market or the HUGE Soviet war memorial in Treptower Park.
Ok, so where did we leave off? Ah yes. Knut and the Clärchens Ballhaus - both awesome in their own special way. Saturday morning was a bit rough, especially since we arrived back at our hotel after Friday night's festivities at about 3:30 am. We slept in a bit and decided to check out Kreuzberg and have some authentic Döner, which was very delicious! The day was very grey and cold, and we didn't end up taking too many pictures. We wandered up to the Checkpoint Charlie museum, found out it's just a stupid tourist attraction, and then went to the Starbucks across the street for tea (you'll notice there's a Starbucks in just about every major border crossing area now!).
We also went to the Jewish Museum, which is in a building built by Daniel Libeskind, who I have very mixed feelings about. I actually thought the building was pretty cool, but the museum itself was not my favorite. It just feels like it is missing something really important... but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Perhaps it's that the space is not utilized to its full potential - it's a building filled with black spaces and sharp angles but the way the exhibits are organized made me feel like I was in a children's museum - everything was very interactive and techy. But I still think it's worth a visit if you're ever in Berlin.
We walked from there over to a plot of land that was called "The Topography of Terrors" in the guidebook. Apparently it was the Gestapo headquarters and there is now a photo exhibition on it. It was closed when we got there, but apparently they are renovating the area to put a real museum there. Across the street is the area where you can rent a Trabant, something that greatly appealed to A. Fortunately I managed to talk him out of it, although I imagine it was more the fact that I had just possibly broken my ankle by falling off a curb sideways.
We walked from there back to Potsdamer Platz to see if there were any movies playing at the movie theater that shows everything in English, and to my delight, the Coen brothers movie Burn After Reading was there! We experienced the interesting behavior in German movie theaters where everyone has an assigned seat, and where they sell ice cream in the theater after the ads! The movie was disappointing, but may improve on further viewings - the Coens kind of work that way for me. We also saw that the following day they were playing the Baader Meinhof Komplexe, which is a new movie about the RAF, and Germany's Academy Award entry. I won't say too much about the film here, since A. may want to comment, but we were fairly disappointed with it as well. It's a strange one...
Sunday and Monday, our last two days in Berlin, were some of the best days of the trip. We started Sunday with a lovely brunch with my journalist friends (who were responsible for the Ballhaus escapade) in Prenzlauer Berg. Once again A. and I were shocked when they complained about how expensive the place was (8 euros for all you can eat brunch), but the food was really good, and it was fun to hang out with my friends. After brunch we split up, and our new friend Ella took us to meet up with some of her German friends at one of Berlin's largest flea markets at Mauerpark, which was an area between the Berlin walls that has since been turned into a park. I have frankly never seen anything like it! Stalls of random crap that went on forever! If you ever need bike parts, or pots and pans (or really anything!) this is where to go. I was particularly captivated by the stall that sold nothing but duct tape.
I really wanted to buy my dad some authentic Communist items, but I imagine they are all long gone by now, and what's left is just the everyday crap that nobody really wants. A. was very taken with a number of audio visual devices that were remnants of the DDR, but I was more interested in the avant-garde fashion options.
After a complete circuit through the market, and a stop to watch the kite flyers and a local band in the freezing wind, we had to leave to go catch the movie, and then go over to Svanur's house for dinner (he cooked a delicious risotto!). It was really fun to hang out with him in Berlin, and we totally enjoyed the dinner!
Monday was our last day so we decided to hit both the Soviet memorial and the bit Stasi museum (we went through the little one in the center of town during our Cold War walk). The smaller Soviet memorial near the Brandenburg Gate is impressive, but it's nothing compared to this one in Treptower Park. We trekked out to the park way on the Eastern side of the city in the pouring rain. It really is sort of in the middle of nowhere and we walked through the park for quite a while before finding the entrance to the memorial. And we arrived right along with a bus full of Russian tourists, who were racing to have their pictures taken with the statue. The memorial consists of several parts, but the most imposing are the entrance (built with the red marble of Hitler's Reichschancellery) with the statues of the two soldiers bent down on one knee, and then the statue of the Soviet soldier holding a German baby that he rescued while stomping on a swastika with his massive foot. This thing is massively huge! I wish that I could have shown this to my students last summer who didn't really believe me when I said that the Soviets (and many others!) believed they had saved the world from the Nazis. It was very impressive!
So you can see the scale of this thing... check out the Russian tourist on the steps!
After standing in the freezing rain for a while, and nearly falling to our deaths on the slippery wet marble, we moved on to the Stasi museum. The museum is located in the former Stasi headquarters in Friedrichshain in the Eastern part of the city. I followed the directions on the brochure but we were having a lot of trouble finding it. We saw a sign on a wall with the words "Stasi Museum" and an arrow, and then walked through a huge office park without seeing any sign of the museum. We walked around the outside and encountered two other couples having the same difficulty, until someone finally realized that the office park was in fact the Stasi complex. The museum is in building number 1 (pictured here)
The archive is in the building next to it, where Germans can go check out their own Stasi files, and the rest of the space seems to have been rented out as regular offices. I think that's part of what makes it so creepy - the sheer banality of it. The Stasi prison is a few blocks away, but you have to have pre-arranged, guided tours to visit and we weren't able to set that up in time. Someday I would like to see it though.
The museum was actually put in Building #1 because that was essentially the headquarters of the Stasi. On the first floor is the entryway and a model of the complex. The second floor consists of several themed rooms with lots of interesting artifacts, like the various secret camera/recording/killing devices.
Ah the old briefcase machine gun!
And the old watch tape recorder!
That can't be the button camera... but indeed it is!
And of course the log thingy!
And finally... the tie cam.
There is also a room dedicated to the Stasi sports teams, the Eisbärs! (or Polar bears in English - no wonder Knut is such a celebrity!). As a lover of spy novels and all things espionage, I was very excited to see all the bizarre gadgets, although I couldn't really understand any of the museum text as it was all in German (we had a guidebook with summaries in English, but it clearly left a lot of stuff out). But the really interesting part of the museum was actually the third floor - the offices. We walked through all the offices of the Stasi heads, and got a glimpse into DDR deco and design.
All the offices had these enormous metal safes built into the walls, which was interesting. And amazing electronic devices like the Robotron 202 (it probably still as the Brother label on the back).
After seeing the main offices, we walked into a room that was once the Cafeteria (and still is!) so we could not resist the opportunity to have a Coca-Cola (a Socialist invention?) in the Stasi cafeteria. It was very bizarre, and also very cheap (I think my Coca was like a euro).
Then, of course, there are the scent bottles, which played an important role in The Lives of Others. During interrogation, the Stasi would make you sit on a special chair and hold your hands under your legs to gather your scent (which they kept in bottles like this) in case they have to come chasing after you with a big mean dog.
I could probably go on and on about the Stasi and the museum, but my guess is that you're already bored so I think I will just stop there and leave you with some more pictures of Knut!
Yep, friendly friends, the rumors are true: 1) you are stuck with Me once again, which is to say, A, and which is to say, with another very-long-post; and 2) we’ve now been out of Berlin for the unreasonably long time of more-than-a-week. It’s sad. Then, when we’re sad about it, we take an exhilarating Velib [the free bike system in Paris] ride on the Seine past the Eiffel Tower, and catch our breath again.
We’re currently pins-and-needles anxious about the election, as is the entire world, which happens tomorrow. We’re watching a series of live reports on French television broadcasting from all over in America. [D wants me to go to an all-night Live-Vote-Watching / American-Culture-Lecture / American-Film experience tomorrow to watch the election [note of interest: what films do the French watch during the biggest American election in order to "Better understand America?" 1. Little Miss Sunshine. 2. Crash [ick.] 3. A documentary about Bernard Henry-Levi going across America] ].
The world is deeply invested in this election.
Berlin was abuzz about the election the entire time we were there; and despite the recent Der Spiegel article demonstrating a severe decline in Germano-American relations, Berlin proved to be both excited and friendly for our company. Our journalist friends related a few stories.
They said that when Obama came to visit, they’ve never seen such an electrified city. They also said that the reported number of 100,000 fans turning up to hear his speech was probably half the real number, easily. Sounded pretty amazing.
I asked our friends to describe their perception of Merkel’s refusal to allow Obama to speak in front of the Brandenberg Tor [or Gate], a la Reagan’s “Tear down this wall!” speech [which, if you re-read it, is really a bit softer on Gorby and the Ruskies than I’d thought]. When Barack Obama came, they said, it was obvious that he wanted a political photo op; but the problem wasn’t so much Obama’s desires. Rather, what stood in the way of Obama and the Brandenberg Gate may have been a recent effort to minimize the previous [er... current] president’s visit. Apparently, when Bushie came round Berlin not so long ago in June to open the shiny new American Embassy, there were some kerfuffles about the Brandenburg Gate. Bush wanted two things, and was refused both:
He wanted a 200 foot security border and complete shut down of public radiating out of the Embassy, as the Americans had in their previous Embassy [known, during the Cold War as the “American Embassy in East Berlin”, not “to,” because that would have been a breach of Cold War language protocol, according to Mike, our Cold War Tour Guide]. Now, keep in mind, the new American Embassy is about 20 feet from the Brandenburg Gate; and important landmarks which fall within that locked-down perimeter include the Art School [where Albert Speer designed Germania for Hitler], and the Brandenberg Tor itself, which is basically connected to the Embassy. So, this is a ridiculous request.
Also, this security border would have severely limited access to photo opportunities at the Hotel Adlon, where one of our Jorno friends’ co-workers had to stake out for several hours to catch Barack Obama “working out.” Pretty thrilling assignment. [Also, if this security perimeter were in place, the paparazzi would not have captured that enduring photo of Michael Jackson dangling a baby out of the Hotel Adlon window].
The second thing Bush wanted was a good photo op in front of the Brandenburg Gate with a huge sprawling crowd. He didn’t get that, either. So, you know, it would look bad and awfully politically assuming if the Germans gave Barack that photo op instead of the current prez.
Now. I’m here to talk about two other nutty and fun events D and I enjoyed in Berlin. The Zoo, and the Ballhaus!
The Zoo
After a nice night of beer and pizza, D and I woke early on a beautiful crisp sunny day to indulge the true catalyst of our desire to visit Berlin: the adorable eisbär Knut! I'd had an obsession with the eisbär during my first year of grad school.
We went to the reasonably priced and beautifully managed Zoo, which was a couple blocks walking distance from our hotel in the west side of Berlin. The Zoo is among the oldest and largest in Europe, apparently, and claims that it has the most species represented of all Zoos in Europe [including the bizarre mega-rats from Louisiana, USA, the nutria. Creepy rodents! and Penguins of the "Brillenpinguin" variety].
The zoo was quite popular on the day we visited, which was the sunniest / least rainy of our time in Berlin. Lots of kids, lots of families; and several individuals of various degrees of Knut-obsession, de-marked by over-large sweatshirts, backpacks, trucker hats, fannypacks, umbrellas, and dangling stuffed animals in form of the eisbär-baby Knut.
We wandered through the zoo, enjoying the rustic layout and naturalistic pens for the animals, and the beautiful day, when we found Knut’s pen.
Knut is still the major attraction in the Berlin zoo, despite having received a reputation for being surly. When we found him, he was napping peacefully in the sun, and a large crowd had gathered, just watching him sleep.
He did eventually wake up, and he spent some time pacing back and forth, eyeballing all of us who watched him.
I liked to think he was watching out for the crazy stalkers with their backpacks and hats, but D thinks maybe he was looking at me. You see, Knut is in a rather sad state right now, mostly because he’s alone. Recently, his hand-rearing zookeeper Papa Thomas Döerflein died suddenly of a heart attack, and there were flowers at Knut’s pen; and Knut definitely looked lonely [we may be projecting and personifying, of course].
D thinks Knut saw me and thought I might have been Papa Thomas- we share a beard, longish brown hair, a solitary style, and I’ve been known to play with bear cubs. I’m not sure about that theory, because bears smell more than they see, but you never know. Knut definitely paced in my direction quite a bit!
Eventually he cheered right up and played with a dumbbell, which he promptly threw in the moat and lost. After the dumbbell, he played catch with a football until he tore it to shreds.
And he was adorable every minute of the day. [slightly less adorable than in this video, I’ll admit:]
Later, when we told our friends we went to the zoo, inevitably each asked "How is Knut?" People in Berlin really care about this bear. And he deserves it. He's cute.
During the period when Knut was napping, we were slightly bored, so we went to see the other bears next door, a couple of black bears napping in the sun. Now, these black bears are likewise immediately nextdoor to the pen of a pack of four white arctic wolves. These wolves seemed to get a bit adventurous earlier in the day, and had made their way, through secret one-way access holes the zoo built for them into the black bear pen. So we go over to see the sleeping bears, when all of a sudden, all of these mischievous wolves appear! Very funny to see.
At one point, one of the wolves approached the bear and nudged him. The bear woke up with a start, and swatted the surprised wolf away. It was very funny to see- an annoyed bear clumsily growling at a pestering wolf.
The other major site we found at the zoo is actually outside the zoo: crossing a bridge over the Spree canals to the section of the zoo with the kangaroos, we saw a small memorial marking the place where Rosa Luxemburg was assassinated and dumped into the river. D tells me this was one of the prominent early political murders before the Nazis took power.
We finally left the zoo, which we very much enjoyed, and headed back toward central Berlin to meet our friends for a night out.
The Ballhaus
We met our friends at their journo homebase, right next to the Brandenberg gate. Here’s the view from their “cafe.” Immediately off camera to the left of the gate is the US embassy.
The night before, at dinner, D’s friend Naomi had promised us and Svanur that there would be “dancing.” Now, we assumed [we assumed, safely] that our dancing experience would include lots of bad thumping German techno, or something along those lines. So we prepared to humiliate everybody with our best Yelle and tektonic dance moves [arm arm, step-kick, bounce, bounce, elbows].
After a largish group of friends meets for some cocktails, they take us deep into a section of Mitte, on the former East. They tell us that we’re going to a place called the Clärchens Ballhaus. We’re told, repeatedly, that it “has a lot of history” and that it represents “very old Berlin.”
We’re not sure what to think about that. But it becomes clear. We walk through a beautiful garden courtyard toward the courthouse, clearly for summer beer garden enjoyment. Loud 60’s American music leaks through the doors as people open them to get in.
Naomi tells us that this bar was opened as a ballroom and dance club in the teens, and has basically been open since then. The entry cost is 3€, and to use the coat check will be an extra 2€. “Do we have to check our coats?” I ask. Our new journo friend says “It is strongly recommended,” which I assume means “yes.”
He then tells us that the coat check gentleman has worked here for over 40 years, and that the man has been taking coats from East Germans as they came to the ballhaus to dance their anxieties away since the 60s. This claim seems to be confirmed when we see him: his swift, direct coat-tagging style and his delicately managed bushy moustache, long since out of style.
We’re all amused by the place so far, although only D, myself and Svanur have never been here before. The smoky wood walls and creaking floors lend an air of weekend-used authenticity to our little ballhaus.
When we enter the main room, however, we are rendered immediately confused. The room is large, but not astoundingly so. There is an open dance floor in front of a low stage; tables and seats squished against one another; two old-looking wet bars, the wait-staff in faux tuxes. The lamps hanging from the ceiling look like Devo hats left in the sun since... well, the GDR days. And, most strangely, covering all the walls: flittering silver tinsel, that bounces the shimmers from the ginormous discoball with a confident kitsch.
[D wishes to explain to certain readers the overwhelming resemblance of the ballhaus' decor to a certain "Sparkle Column."]
We walk through the two middle-aged, apparently already drinking, ladies dancing with one another in the otherwise abandoned dance floor. The music is Del Shannon, and the DJ appears also to have been left behind after the fall of the wall, but who took to the cheekier aspects of West Berlin perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. He’s probably 65, with long white chops and a tied back rat-tail, thick Bobby Darin glasses, a died-black Van Dyke beard, a purple shiny shirt and black vest, rocking and rolling to the tunes that he’s laying down.
Svanur and I are bemused. The old ladies were not exactly thrilled to see that the energetic group that has joined them is, in fact, a bunch of Americans; their mood sours. The place has the air of the zaniest VFW or community hall, with accents of pure authentic history. A very strange place indeed.
We order food [mostly pizzas] and lots of beer and sit in to talk. We’re enjoying ourselves. The DJ keeps spinning mainly 60s American tunes, some British. Bobby Darin, Beatles, Monkees. The two dancing ladies join our table [they were there first, and seem bummed out that the group that bombed their table is, in fact, a bunch of Americans].
We’re deep in another conversation [I was asking a new journo friend about his feelings on Faulkner, oddly... I don’t know how that happened], when the discoball is sparked in bright red light and the stage comes alive, completely to our party’s surprise.
We size the band up, a roguish but scrawny batch. The lead singer has a flowing blond pompadour and tattoos, the woman playing the stand-up bass has a classic elegance about her, but otherwise, they look like a silly bad house band. Then, with a few words of German that ripple across the tinselled walls, they rip into the theme to Hawaii 5-0 by the Ventures.
The band, who will henceforth be known by name as the inimitable Big Fat Shakin’ [yes, that’s their name. Here’s their Myspace and homepage] takes us on a nutty journey from 1960 until about 1990, playing a slew of classics and known songs with a grand rockabilly twist. Notable among them, a pulsing rockabilly version of Michael Jackson’s “Beat It,” doubtless for dangling babies in their city. [Note: while we don't have any pictures of the ballhaus, if you vist Big Fat Shakin's homepage, they are some pictures there.]
The dance floor is packed, we’re having a great time, drinking beer, eating pizza, talking Faulker and Obama, wondering exactly where we are and how this came to be.
It’s 1913, and the ballhaus has just opened; it’s 1929 and we’re partying through the depression after the war as wild flappers; it’s 1965 and we’re crushed but optimistic with our smuggled music; it’s 1975 and we’re indulging our weekends away from the eyes of the GDR [but never really away]; it’s 1960 in America with our American surf tunes [the Venures?! Amazing]; it’s 2008, wonderingly looking back at all of this.
It’s Berlin.
So, that’s it. That’s the zoo and the ballhaus. I know that the ballhaus is a strange and wonderful place to have gone. D and I haven’t seen it in many of our travel guides. But let’s try to keep it that way, guys. It’s not the kind of place that should be broken open to the tourist crowd. It’s a great place to see; but it also seems to be kind of a sacred token that both D and I felt somewhat ambivalent about indulging- it clearly is a local joint, where old-school Berliners go to shake off their worries.
It's A. again. I just realized that we actually do have pictures of us seeing the wall for the first time at Potzdamer Platz, I just overlooked them. Here's the line of wall pieces used for a temporary museum exhibit, lined up exactly where the wall border was:
And here I am, gazing up at a piece that has been set apart from the others. You can see that the wall has been placed exactly along its border. The border between East and West is marked by the line cutting through the cement toward camera, and off in the distance [it is cobblestone through the street, then runs further into the background]. That wall stretches over all of Berlin, cutting through any street, passage, or even building that has been built over this border; a constant reminder of the division. I am currently standing on the West looking East.
Hey. It’s me, A. I’ve been enlisted to scribble out a few thoughts about the next couple series of events from our trip to Berlin. I'm told that this is a "conversational" blog. So I'll spare my normal professorial pretensions. And, if you want, I totally understand if you just want to skip my entries entirely. No harm.
I’m starting with this one, and maybe I’ll post another one tonight. I’ll start with our first trip to the newly reconstructed space-age shopping center known as the Sony Center at Potzdamer Platz.
Potzdamer Platz is a terrifically interesting place- this is a central commercial zone in Berlin, and has been reconstructed in steel and glass like the most spacey-aged places in the world.
In the 20s and 30s, Potzdamer Platz was the busiest commercial center in Berlin, populated with shops, restaurants, cafes, all that; and the bustling throngs of Wiemar flappers and gents in tightly tailored tuxedos. During the war, the intersection was all but destroyed in the bombings, and was bisected by the Soviets and Allies. It quickly became an urban wasteland, split by the border between the stagnant forces, and was a wide death strip between the east and west walls.
This was actually the first place that D and I saw any of the wall and discovered the cobblestone strip that runs throughout Berlin marking the exact location of the wall. The wall sections at Potzdamer Platz aren’t all that interesting. They basically have been placed directly on the cobblestones as a demonstration of their placement, but they clearly have been moved there, mostly for a temporary exhibition and photo-op for tourists [oddly, we didn't take photos...].
Potzdamer Platz, all shiny and glittery, is dominated by the insane semi-open coporate-shopping center known as the Sony Center [take a guess at who won naming rights there, kids!]. This was designed in the 90s after reunification by several known architects, among them Renzo Piano, who designed the Centre Pompidou here in gay Paree. Now, I really like the Centre Pompidou. The basic concept of Renzo and the other postmodern architects from the mid 20th-current 21st century period [that’s official historical period definition, btw] is a semi-playful explosion and deconstruction of the building materials itself. So, everything that would normally be inside the building is now outside, and you can see it. That’s why the outside of Centre Pompidou shows its ducts. All in a row. [heh heh. Ouch- D, don’t hit over bad jokes!]
The Sony Center is basically a gigantic chunk of glass that is supposed to look “Cool.” I guess it does. It has a big building that is curved glass on one side, and a perfectly straight side on the other, big whoop. It’s most interesting feature is the “Covered” courtyard in the center, which houses the restaurants, movie theatre [more on the movies we saw in Berlin later], and a rather dull animated water fountain. The cover itself is basically a gigantic umbrella hovering overhead, whose central shaft culminates in a huge pointed arrow, and looks rather dangerous in the case of suddenly shifting geography.
So. D and I want here not to see the umbrella and fear for our lives, or to have our love for Renzo Piano’s work smushed in front of us [D has, btw, seen Renzo’s mysterious labs in Paris. She’s walked past, and wondered “what the hell is the deal with the office that just makes ugly balsa wood models”]. We went to meet Svanur, a fellow cinephile, to check out the Berlin Cinemateque and Film Museum, or, Deutsche Kinemathek Museum Für Film und Fernsehen.
I don’t know if this was a hilight on D’s list, but German film history is astounding and interesting, so I was all jazzed, and so was Svanur. We were particularly excited about the early silent cinema, the Nazi propaganda room, and the post-war cinema periods [yeah, I know that basically covers every period of cinema in Germany. Don’t be rash. This is for your edification, not analysis]. We don’t really have any photos of the Museum. No kameras allowed in the Kinematek.
The exhibit itself starts bizarrely and confusingly: TVs showing clips from the great German silents jut out from the mirrored walls- it’s like you’re walking through a hall of mirrors, but with Nosferatu jumping after you. Pretty fantastic.
Then, some exhibits on early film technology, early working cameras, some of which worked, etc. I got to explain to Svanur the radness of a very early ratcheting gear mechanism for camera exposure instead of the currently used all-pervasive claw-method used today. Looked like they were on to something to me! As we moved through, we saw some great stills and props from such works as Metropolis and M, some of our favorite Fritz Lang films. Things are looking good so far.
Metropolis:
Then, a gem: a sound-recording of very very early Marlene Dietrich test film. Very beautiful and amazing to see, a true treasure.
However, immediately following that, we went through about a billion more things of Marlene Dietrich. Yowza. I really like her, she’s great. But... yikes. We saw her luggage [all 12 huge trunks stamped with all the places she's been. I wonder if they float like in Joe vs. The Volcano...?], the mild-to-extremely racially insensitive “mascots” or dolls she carried with her everywhere, letters from Hemingway, her dresses, more dresses, shoes, hats, feathers...
Pretty Marlene intensive.
After wading through all of that glamour, we finally found ourselves in the second most anticipated room: The Nazi-era propaganda room. Many of us know and recognize Leni Reifenstahl and her great Nazi propaganda films, primarily Triumph of the Will. But the Nazis had nationalized the UFO [not the space ship, the film production company] and used it to crank out Triumph along with hundreds of other “commercial” films for their cause. Included in some of the clips were some very anti-Semitic narratives, a few bizarre rip-offs of American films, and my favorite, a German produced, German language, [literally] Nazi Western, filmed in early 1940 just outside of Los Angeles [yikes!]
This room was fascinating and utterly perpexing, and its net result was a mind-numbing confusion. As with most things Nazi-reconcilliation, the great problem is one of presentation. The Kinematek chose a method of presentation that was supposed to be “inclusive” and “interactive.” The room itself is entirely encased and covered in zinc panels, and everything must be opened in order to see it. So, you basically walk into a completely blank-but-shiny-room, and you have to open a bunch of drawers on the walls. As soon as you do open the drawers, a movie plays some bizarre Nazi stereotype, and you’re shouted at with angry German. A bit tough to digest.
On to the next room, the one we’re all really jazzed about, the Post-War Room!
Except.... the door is locked! And there’s a sign on it! Svanur reads this and tells us that the Post war room, and the rest of the museum, is closed for renovation. Damnit.
After we got shut out of the exhibit we wanted to see, we went to the TV side of the museum, where the hilight was a room showing TV through the ages in Germany. This was an astounding room, a huge kaleidoscopic myriad grid of hilarious and poignant German television from the East and West in a beautifully rendered way. It starts as a few clips shown against a wall, which is itself in another hall of mirrors, so it seems as though it goes forever [what’s with Germans and infinite-mirrors?]. As the decades progress, the hilarious and fascinating TV increases in volume, color, and absurdity, until it is an endless grid of non-stop nonsense, bursting forth forever. Probably better if you A) know German, and B) have seen any of the shows. But it was still spectacular and hilarious for us.
So, that was the Kinematek and the Potzdamer Platz Sony Center. If you like Marlene Dietrick... I mean, really really really like her, I mean, like, you would-stalk-her-if-she-weren’t-long-time-gone liked, then you should definitely make the trip.
I'll be back next with photos we actually took, including the adorable Knut!
