There has been much gleeful crowing elsewhere - but I feel I have to out myself as a fan. I suppose it was the guy's rapier wit and intelligence, or the way he wore his suit. Or that little hint of tubby tummy, no doubt resulting indirectly from his love of cookbooks. Or in fact the downright sexy way - there, I've said it - he just went ahead and enthused about certain books, and trashed others with out-and-out contempt. No pussyfooting around; you have to be cruel to be kind, but when he liked a book he really said so. And those eyebrows.
My friends haven't stopped taking the mickey since I came out last week - But he's so short! And so opinionated! So conservative! And he looks like a Chickaboo (no, we decided that wasn't racist; although there's room for misconstruction, there is actually a certain physical resemblance around the hairline). And he's really short, you know!
I know all that. But I shall still miss watching Die Vorleser. Cancelled! How could they? I blame the other presenter - I know he would have shone like a bright star had he not been hampered by her earthy charm, her vox-populi saccharinity. And of course the format - I mean, all the other book shows on German TV are crashing and burning too right now, aren't they? He just hasn't found the right vehicle yet.
I can envisage something a little more glamorous, maybe just with his name as the title. With interviews and location shoots, maybe a visit to the sauna with Philip Roth or the racetrack with Clemens Meyer, maybe looking through Christa Wolf's stamp collection or tea and cake with Mrs. Bolano. Big-budget stuff, a primetime slot. With a live cooking section. And lots and lots of intelligent opinion. I know I'd watch it.
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Monday, 27 December 2010
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Hamburg's Finest: Ham.Lit & Die Vorleser
There's more than one way to skin a cat. You can go out into the world and listen to writers in cavernous bunkers, or you can listen to people talking about books from the comfort of your own sofa. Ham.Lit was the excruciating title of an impressive event in Hamburg on Thursday, "a concentrate of the most exciting young German-language literature and music of the moment - on one night, under one roof."
And what a roof. Hamburg had decided to veil itself in mist for my visit, with a huge five-storey WWII bunker rising like an icebreaker between the snowy pavements. In we ventured, then up to the fourth floor in a lift crowded with hip young things. There were three venues hosting 18 writers plus two bands. Which meant that inevitably, one was constantly torn between poetry and prose, slam and short stories.
The hugely talented, heavily bearded Finn-Ole Heinrich opened the show with a humdinger, his knockout story "Zeit der Witze" - best of the night, said my delightful hostess Isa, and I agree. Plus the guy sure knows how to read - I'd have given him a later slot myself. Then came Kristof Magnusson with a nice taste of his novel Das war ich nicht (see my review). I stayed put for Jan Wagner, who once again struck fear into my heart with his sheer intelligence and genuinely enjoyable poetry. In contrast to Daniel Falb, who struck fear of a different kind into my heart. Back to Clemens Meyer, with a nervous rendering from his forthcoming diary-like Gewalten. It looks like it'll be a personal, political, very strange look back at 2009.
By that point I was exhausted, so Tilmann Rammstedt and Monica Rinck sadly went in one ear and out the other. And that's the only disadvantage to these huge events: sheer input overload. There were a hell of a lot of people there, many of whom wandered in and out of the venues, which doesn't make for concentrated listening either. And the crowd thinned out rapidly as the last trains left before the second band - the impressive GUSTAV - came on stage (I missed the first musical act but was briefly serenaded in the corridor to make up for it). Despite that, the event was a huge success and a great opportunity for Hamburgers to pick up on some very happening and talented writers. My radical suggestion for next time: don't hold it on a week night.
Those Hamburgers, I noticed, are quite different to the Berliners: completely and utterly laid-back. Presumably it was the Hamburgers who inspired that song telling Aurélie that the Germans flirt very subtly. Or maybe it was just too dark. And it's Hamburgers who make up the studio audience for ZDF's televisual literary extravaganza, Die Vorleser - including my delightful hostess Isa and the lovely Axel in yesterday's episode. You too can watch it online via that link.
I've mentioned it in the past, but this was the first time I'd got round to watching it. And I'm undecided - does the information value outweigh the irritation factor? Or to put it another way - does Ijoma Mangold outweigh Amelie Fried and, in this case, a barely comprehensible Detlev Buck? Mangold, for me, is the opposite of his fellow critic Sigrid Löffler - in the former case I want not to like him but can never quite manage. He says such a lot of clever things that I just can't help respecting him. Unfortunately, the show is done in such an irritating way that whenever anyone else is on camera I start gnashing my teeth.
It's obviously scripted, but the makers expect us to suspend our disbelief and buy the idea of Ijoma and Amelie chatting informally on the sofa. "So you want me to explain the title now, don't you, Ijoma?" tweets Amelie, and Ijoma nods as if he really, genuinely does. "Oh, you critics!" twitters Amelie, and Ijoma smirks as if he hadn't seen it coming. "I have adolescent kids!" squeaks Amelie, and we all try hard not to imagine what they get up to behind mum's back, while sighing over her all-too obvious appeal to the female book-buying demographic.
In between, Ijoma gets to enthuse over a couple of books, while Amelie looks mature and disapproving. All padded out with shots of the laid-back Hanseatic audience frowning. I don't know, it's better than Richard and Judy - but great telly it ain't.
And what a roof. Hamburg had decided to veil itself in mist for my visit, with a huge five-storey WWII bunker rising like an icebreaker between the snowy pavements. In we ventured, then up to the fourth floor in a lift crowded with hip young things. There were three venues hosting 18 writers plus two bands. Which meant that inevitably, one was constantly torn between poetry and prose, slam and short stories.
The hugely talented, heavily bearded Finn-Ole Heinrich opened the show with a humdinger, his knockout story "Zeit der Witze" - best of the night, said my delightful hostess Isa, and I agree. Plus the guy sure knows how to read - I'd have given him a later slot myself. Then came Kristof Magnusson with a nice taste of his novel Das war ich nicht (see my review). I stayed put for Jan Wagner, who once again struck fear into my heart with his sheer intelligence and genuinely enjoyable poetry. In contrast to Daniel Falb, who struck fear of a different kind into my heart. Back to Clemens Meyer, with a nervous rendering from his forthcoming diary-like Gewalten. It looks like it'll be a personal, political, very strange look back at 2009.
By that point I was exhausted, so Tilmann Rammstedt and Monica Rinck sadly went in one ear and out the other. And that's the only disadvantage to these huge events: sheer input overload. There were a hell of a lot of people there, many of whom wandered in and out of the venues, which doesn't make for concentrated listening either. And the crowd thinned out rapidly as the last trains left before the second band - the impressive GUSTAV - came on stage (I missed the first musical act but was briefly serenaded in the corridor to make up for it). Despite that, the event was a huge success and a great opportunity for Hamburgers to pick up on some very happening and talented writers. My radical suggestion for next time: don't hold it on a week night.
Those Hamburgers, I noticed, are quite different to the Berliners: completely and utterly laid-back. Presumably it was the Hamburgers who inspired that song telling Aurélie that the Germans flirt very subtly. Or maybe it was just too dark. And it's Hamburgers who make up the studio audience for ZDF's televisual literary extravaganza, Die Vorleser - including my delightful hostess Isa and the lovely Axel in yesterday's episode. You too can watch it online via that link.
I've mentioned it in the past, but this was the first time I'd got round to watching it. And I'm undecided - does the information value outweigh the irritation factor? Or to put it another way - does Ijoma Mangold outweigh Amelie Fried and, in this case, a barely comprehensible Detlev Buck? Mangold, for me, is the opposite of his fellow critic Sigrid Löffler - in the former case I want not to like him but can never quite manage. He says such a lot of clever things that I just can't help respecting him. Unfortunately, the show is done in such an irritating way that whenever anyone else is on camera I start gnashing my teeth.
It's obviously scripted, but the makers expect us to suspend our disbelief and buy the idea of Ijoma and Amelie chatting informally on the sofa. "So you want me to explain the title now, don't you, Ijoma?" tweets Amelie, and Ijoma nods as if he really, genuinely does. "Oh, you critics!" twitters Amelie, and Ijoma smirks as if he hadn't seen it coming. "I have adolescent kids!" squeaks Amelie, and we all try hard not to imagine what they get up to behind mum's back, while sighing over her all-too obvious appeal to the female book-buying demographic.
In between, Ijoma gets to enthuse over a couple of books, while Amelie looks mature and disapproving. All padded out with shots of the laid-back Hanseatic audience frowning. I don't know, it's better than Richard and Judy - but great telly it ain't.
Friday, 10 July 2009
German Books On TV
If, unlike me, you have a working television set right now and can pick up German channels, you could tune in to the latest effort to bring literature to the small screen on ZDF tonight.
Blatantly cashing in on Schlink's bestseller, the show is called "Die Vorleser" and features a new team: sexy but arrogant Ijoma Mangold from Die Zeit - touted as "young" and "wild" but looking good in a well-cut suit nevertheless - and Amelie Fried, an experienced presenter and writer who I don't actually know, but who looks very mumsy and should therefore appeal to the book-buying Brigitte-reading demographic.
ZDF had to rethink its literature programming after kicking out Elke Heidenreich for being rude about the channel. She now does her show on the lovely litcolony website.
The programme pledges to inject some debate into the "books on TV" format, and it seems the two presenters do get into a bit of banter over books on the show. Which is a slightly less authoritarian approach than the "presenter holds book up to camera and orders viewers to read it" scheme adopted in the past. It remains to be seen whether Ijoma and Amelie will become Germany's Richard and Judy though...
Blatantly cashing in on Schlink's bestseller, the show is called "Die Vorleser" and features a new team: sexy but arrogant Ijoma Mangold from Die Zeit - touted as "young" and "wild" but looking good in a well-cut suit nevertheless - and Amelie Fried, an experienced presenter and writer who I don't actually know, but who looks very mumsy and should therefore appeal to the book-buying Brigitte-reading demographic.
ZDF had to rethink its literature programming after kicking out Elke Heidenreich for being rude about the channel. She now does her show on the lovely litcolony website.
The programme pledges to inject some debate into the "books on TV" format, and it seems the two presenters do get into a bit of banter over books on the show. Which is a slightly less authoritarian approach than the "presenter holds book up to camera and orders viewers to read it" scheme adopted in the past. It remains to be seen whether Ijoma and Amelie will become Germany's Richard and Judy though...
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Germanist in Gangsta Rappa Shocka
What's the opposite of a Bavarian student of German literature (10th semester)? That's right, a ganster rapper!
Germany's trashiest channelTM, RTL2, has a new reality format - der Bluff. That's German for "the bluff". Unfortunately, it's a bit of a false friend pronounciation-wise, as it kind of rhymes with the French word "boeuf". The show takes someone out of their usual environment and trains them up to pretend to be something else in four weeks - burger-bar cook to Michelin-starred chef, binman to dressman, you get the picture. At the end they have to pass a test and get picked out (or ideally, not get picked out) by a panel of experts. There is a slight possibility that the format might be "borrowed" from the US or the UK.
The first episode ran on Monday night, and literally had me pinned to the sofa. They took Christian, a student of modern German literature in Munich, a fan of Goethe and opera, a wearer of grey flannel ties and a carrier of a shapeless leather satchel, and put him in the capable hands of three hiphoppers. But first we saw him chatting to his professor and his old friend Sister Gertraude (a nun), and singing German folk songs over red wine with his mates.
The transformation itself was slightly tortuous. Christian's morph into CrissGO took a lot of effort - after all, he had to learn the sexist, homophobic lyrics of his rap, practice swearing and posturing, and get his hair cut and proper pimp-style facial hair going. They whisked him around Cologne and Bonn from clubs to brothels to recording studios, before making him move into a scuzzy Kreuzberg flat with two genuine rappers. (The charming official Berlin tourism site says of Kreuzberg: "The coexistence of a variegated palette of cultures is this quarter's distinguishing characteristic.")
Once in Berlin, they really rolled out the telegenic deutsch-rap stars - Samy Deluxe (rather sheepish), Lady Bitch Ray (who had trouble hiding her intelligence), and the head of the local gang, the 36 Boys. CrissGO even got a nice 36 Boys hoodie - my young man warned him from the sofa not to venture into Neukölln with it on. In the end everyone loved and respected him and he even managed to sort of pass the bluff test - the experts picked him out but said he was no worse than most of the other wannabes in the hiphop battle they staged.
As you might expect, this was all hugely entertaining. CrissGO kept a video diary, in which he compared his hiphop tutors to characters in German literature, secretly quaffing red wine and "good whisky" in his scuzzy bedroom. There were quite a few gratuitous Goethe quotes thrown in here and there too. On the other side, the gangsta world was incredibly sanitised; not a single drug in sight, no violence, just a modicum of scuzz. The wannabe hiphoppers I used to know certainly lived in much greater self-imposed squalor than the RTL2 version. We speculated on how much everyone had been paid, but it was clear that all concerned had done much more than scoot round with the hoover before the camera team arrived.
My only concern is the damage the show may do to German Studies. After the recent news that only 610 students signed up for German degrees at UK universities last year, I can't help but think that the subject needs a bit of a boost in the public eye. Christian just didn't make it look sexy - although his professor did appear to cop a feel of Lady Bitch Ray at one point. German literature is now firmly established in the minds of thousands of viewers as the benign antithesis of dark, dangerous ghetto rap. Just take a look at the before and after photos for visual proof. Talk about irresponsible programming - RTL2 has no doubt scared off a whole generation of would-be Germanists. I shall be launching a complaint forthwith - as soon as I've finished reading my annotated Urfaust and indulged in a quick round of fencing and hot mead with the rest of the Burschenschaft.
Germany's trashiest channelTM, RTL2, has a new reality format - der Bluff. That's German for "the bluff". Unfortunately, it's a bit of a false friend pronounciation-wise, as it kind of rhymes with the French word "boeuf". The show takes someone out of their usual environment and trains them up to pretend to be something else in four weeks - burger-bar cook to Michelin-starred chef, binman to dressman, you get the picture. At the end they have to pass a test and get picked out (or ideally, not get picked out) by a panel of experts. There is a slight possibility that the format might be "borrowed" from the US or the UK.
The first episode ran on Monday night, and literally had me pinned to the sofa. They took Christian, a student of modern German literature in Munich, a fan of Goethe and opera, a wearer of grey flannel ties and a carrier of a shapeless leather satchel, and put him in the capable hands of three hiphoppers. But first we saw him chatting to his professor and his old friend Sister Gertraude (a nun), and singing German folk songs over red wine with his mates.
The transformation itself was slightly tortuous. Christian's morph into CrissGO took a lot of effort - after all, he had to learn the sexist, homophobic lyrics of his rap, practice swearing and posturing, and get his hair cut and proper pimp-style facial hair going. They whisked him around Cologne and Bonn from clubs to brothels to recording studios, before making him move into a scuzzy Kreuzberg flat with two genuine rappers. (The charming official Berlin tourism site says of Kreuzberg: "The coexistence of a variegated palette of cultures is this quarter's distinguishing characteristic.")
Once in Berlin, they really rolled out the telegenic deutsch-rap stars - Samy Deluxe (rather sheepish), Lady Bitch Ray (who had trouble hiding her intelligence), and the head of the local gang, the 36 Boys. CrissGO even got a nice 36 Boys hoodie - my young man warned him from the sofa not to venture into Neukölln with it on. In the end everyone loved and respected him and he even managed to sort of pass the bluff test - the experts picked him out but said he was no worse than most of the other wannabes in the hiphop battle they staged.
As you might expect, this was all hugely entertaining. CrissGO kept a video diary, in which he compared his hiphop tutors to characters in German literature, secretly quaffing red wine and "good whisky" in his scuzzy bedroom. There were quite a few gratuitous Goethe quotes thrown in here and there too. On the other side, the gangsta world was incredibly sanitised; not a single drug in sight, no violence, just a modicum of scuzz. The wannabe hiphoppers I used to know certainly lived in much greater self-imposed squalor than the RTL2 version. We speculated on how much everyone had been paid, but it was clear that all concerned had done much more than scoot round with the hoover before the camera team arrived.
My only concern is the damage the show may do to German Studies. After the recent news that only 610 students signed up for German degrees at UK universities last year, I can't help but think that the subject needs a bit of a boost in the public eye. Christian just didn't make it look sexy - although his professor did appear to cop a feel of Lady Bitch Ray at one point. German literature is now firmly established in the minds of thousands of viewers as the benign antithesis of dark, dangerous ghetto rap. Just take a look at the before and after photos for visual proof. Talk about irresponsible programming - RTL2 has no doubt scared off a whole generation of would-be Germanists. I shall be launching a complaint forthwith - as soon as I've finished reading my annotated Urfaust and indulged in a quick round of fencing and hot mead with the rest of the Burschenschaft.
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Meyer-TV
Watch Clemens Meyer swearing on a talkshow. That lovely accent. Hach.
Oh, and Roger Whittaker's on there too. They don't seem to interact though.
Oh, and Roger Whittaker's on there too. They don't seem to interact though.
Monday, 31 March 2008
Tatort Translation
Last night's Tatort was a real feast for the eyes. Detective Charlotte Lindholm was on maternity leave (and looking very flat-stomached for it), but snooping around a Kleingartenkolonie on the tracks of an old murder. Now a Kleingartenkolonie is a wonderfully German thing - upmarket allotments with houses on them, run by committees with rules, rules, rules - how big is the building, when may the parties barbecue, how many fruit trees are required, etc. etc. And this one was a prime example, with the costumes and casting departments doing their very best to make it scarily close to the cliché. You can watch the trailer here. There appears to be a "gay gardeners" faction now actually, at least in Berlin, but they weren't represented in this episode.
Anyway, I'll come to the point, shall I? Charlotte Lindholm's comic relief flatmate is a crime writer, and has written a splatter book featuring satanists that everyone keeps praising at inopportune moments. And one day he receives a phone call out of the blue. He puts the phone down and looks dead chuffed - it was Random House in New York - they want to translate his book! He imagines the English title - The Circle of Hell - my, doesn't that sound good? OK, I thought, that's exciting, a German crime writer getting a call from New York. Nice to see people thinking of translators occasionally, even if Random House are hardly going to ring up the lowly author when they should actually be dealing with his publishers' rights department.
But it got worse. The very next day we see the writer sitting at his desk, disgruntled. He is brooding over a thinnish manuscript with an English title - The Hounds of Hell or some such. Oh, is that the translation? asks the detective. Yes, but they've changed the name...
Hello? So Tatort is written overnight by computer, is it? Because that's obviously what Random House did in this episode. They took the German book, presumably the hardback edition, fed it into a slot in their special translation machine, and out came an English manuscript. The Bertha translation method. I was appalled. Do scriptwriters really imagine a translation goes that quickly? Even I know that writing screenplays takes months and months or even years, what with all the tweaking and fiddling that goes on after the fact. But Tatort couldn't even muster a mention of an actual human individual being involved in the translation process. Maybe Random House should sue. I would.
Anyway, I'll come to the point, shall I? Charlotte Lindholm's comic relief flatmate is a crime writer, and has written a splatter book featuring satanists that everyone keeps praising at inopportune moments. And one day he receives a phone call out of the blue. He puts the phone down and looks dead chuffed - it was Random House in New York - they want to translate his book! He imagines the English title - The Circle of Hell - my, doesn't that sound good? OK, I thought, that's exciting, a German crime writer getting a call from New York. Nice to see people thinking of translators occasionally, even if Random House are hardly going to ring up the lowly author when they should actually be dealing with his publishers' rights department.
But it got worse. The very next day we see the writer sitting at his desk, disgruntled. He is brooding over a thinnish manuscript with an English title - The Hounds of Hell or some such. Oh, is that the translation? asks the detective. Yes, but they've changed the name...
Hello? So Tatort is written overnight by computer, is it? Because that's obviously what Random House did in this episode. They took the German book, presumably the hardback edition, fed it into a slot in their special translation machine, and out came an English manuscript. The Bertha translation method. I was appalled. Do scriptwriters really imagine a translation goes that quickly? Even I know that writing screenplays takes months and months or even years, what with all the tweaking and fiddling that goes on after the fact. But Tatort couldn't even muster a mention of an actual human individual being involved in the translation process. Maybe Random House should sue. I would.
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