Going back into the museum, back downstairs, back to 2009, I’m polishing off the last bottle of Riesling, excited about the film. 20 years after Rene made his escape. 20 years after the Berlin Wall has fallen. 20 years after Kinski gave his interpretation of the life and career of the Italian composer and virtuoso violinist Niccolò Paganini, which was refused by Werner Herzog despite Klaus’s repeated efforts to get him to direct, two decades after all this, and the effects are still moving out like ripples and waves, from the North Sea to the North Atlantic. The Kinski/Herzog collaborations fueled the content for Werner’s documentary ‘My Best Feind’ which tells his side of the story that was their tumultuous relationship though stories and old footage of Kinski’s maniacal (or brilliant depending on whom you’re talking to) fits. There’s none of that between Stöhr and Kalkbrenner, he sits in his seat instead of threatening to hit someone with it. There isn’t much reason for me mentioning this other than I wish he was. Madness can be so fetching.
I have to admit, the film was pretty good. Entertaining, funny, sad, a tragic-comedy of sorts that left me wanting to go back to Berlin if even for one night at Berghain. The story unfolds with DJ Ickarus touring with his girlfriend and manager from club to club around the world as he is preparing to release his next album. But soon, it all falls apart as Icka’s drug use lands him in a psych ward after taking a bad pill made with a strong hallucinogen. Stöhr’s use of an electronic music composer in place of an organic music producer works brilliantly and proves that these young musicians are indeed the true Beethovens, Strausses, and Mozarts of these modern times.
After the film we’re all moved 7 stories up to the sky room for a short after party with Kalkbrenner on the decks to get everyone moving to the Berlin beats. The sexy German accent is all around me. Yes, that’s right, I find the german accent very sexy. There’s just something so correct about. Hannes is clapping his hands, stomping his feet and mingling all around.
“Well done, really. Loved the film. Brings back memories.”
“Ah, so you know the story.”
“Any fan of electronic music knows some part of that story.”
The lights are flashing intricate designs across the walls and I step out on the deck for a smoke. The rain has lightened up and I’m staring into the flame of my zippo when out the corner of my eye, I swear that I see Klaus Kinski, wild eyed and foaming at the mouth, dancing with the all the fervor of a rabid dog in heat as Kalkbrenner spins, his music within, tonight Berlin does win.
