Regie: Fabiane Kemann Musikalische Leitung und Klavier Peter Aidu Dirigentin Ekaterina Antonenko Musikalische Bearbeitung Arno Waschk Dramaturgie Satchel Reemtsma Produktionsleitung Isabel Aguirre, Daria Leduck Regieassistenz Leonard Beck Chorassistenz Anastasiia Sidorkina Requisite Amandine Monsterlet Produktionsassistenz Polina Efimova
Mit Almut Zilcher, Margarita Breitkreiz, Artemis Chalkidou, Thomas Dannemann, Edwin Cotton, Niels Bormann, Bernd Grawert
Chöre & Chorleiter*innen: Intrada (Moskau) mit Ekaterina Antonenko, Synagogal Ensemble Berlin mit Regina Yantian, Refugio Chor mit Regina Yantian, Lysius Chor mit Sergi Gili Solé, Erich-Fried-Chor mit Maria Haupert und Andreas Bunckenburg, Hans-Beimler-Chor Berlin mit Johannes C. Gall
I wake up to the morning as if it were any other. As if any other were like this morning, a venn diagram, basically, of mornings and this particular one coincided with the whole circle perfectly.
It snowed outside, as it were January, slowly, light flakes that had frosted the soil over night and validated the teperature contrastshape of the innermost human and freezing cold morning winds.
Latched between earth and clouds most of them still existed as if they did not, so distinct from one another, one would almost forget that they were not. The dust from the sun above the clouds, heated the soil and comforted the waking minds similar to overly ambitious ants trying to swim.
With circular precision 80 % of humans would do today, Wednesday the 13th, excately what they had done last week at the same time. In the recurrent try to repeat and over repeat precisly their movements from last week the city had been caught in a ballet of a million stretching bodies shaping normal as it were.
While playing at at a river between Iran and Irak, a small girl loses her kite to the other side of the border. The boys who play there, try to make contact but not only language seperates them. The dangerous playgrounds hold explosive leftovers from the last war.
When we went to the Berlinale 2020 we had heard of Covid before. But it did not make any difference: “This might be the last one” someone said “and after this it is apocalypse.” They might have been right we woulnd´t know until two months later, safely in our homes.
Several small groups of filmmakers gathered in a room with couches and hot beverages. Intimate, friendly and with a cool courisosity what might be happening next. The selected nominees for the generational competition at Berlinale had ensembled to glance on a prospective future.
The award ceremony was not until thursday and hundreds of films could be visited with free entrance. We had looked, seen and talked with some of the others teams before my new group would find their curiosity nursed, their stomach satisfied and the hydration appropriate. Time to watch some movies.
We travelled as four into Morroco. Our van broke down in Saragosa, Spain, we fixed it in Tangier. My main memory is the little bumb we did when arriving at the port in Tarifa in south of spain. One night in a hostel right at the Strait of Gibraltar that disconnects Europe from Africa by only 13 km.
We leave early in the morning, barely a jog from the hostel. We step onto the ferry, leave the van in the belly and enjoy the ride. There is an old american memory anchored in this part of the world. Jimmy Hendrix, the beat generation all had reported on the oriental promise it holds.
After some relaxing days in the high atlas, with hikes and camping, I travelled off towards Marrakesh, buzzling City of سوق . Find a sweet stop at Essouria and travel back to the inner Atlas.
Cities like Fes and Meknes
It takes long busride to get here, one of them peaking at 12 hours. The latter one a city with little tourist ambition remains still as daily life sweeps through it lightfilled corners.
As I made my days through the city and tried to capture something that felt more life like than the globalized frontlines of Hallo, Guten Tag! Möchten Sie … etwas kaufen? to kind hearted, warm, people, genuine exhaustion and a secret place for pride.
With a vibrating groove i followed Padrema through Kreuzberg in Berlin. With their own tracks and covers from Khruangbin, we stopped ever so often to set up camp for a few live recordings. Initially the last stop would have been our first but the police crossed this idea before we could begin. With a new plan and a compelling combination of companions and onlookers an evening well spent.