•
Rating: ...the Berlin Zoo. No, it is not that lovely place that stands out from the rest of the cities for its collection of fierce and non-fierce fauna in a framework of semi-untouched nature.
This zoo is almost colloquial. In the half-capital of Germany divided by the wall, it is the "Zoologischer Garten" Railway Station. Yes, alright, it is across from the zoological garden. A toilet without a flush crossed by trains on the side you prefer to see. In the dark area, between the guts that swallow the metro and the immediate surroundings sheltered by metallic inlaid canopies, there exists another type of zoo. The one populated by the worst humanity searching for any prey.
Addicts, ambiguous people, perverts, pimps, drug dealers, homosexuals. And no police officer.
Christiane is a young girl who lives with difficulty in a house she detests and among the conquerable coils of a fragmented family. The indifference of a mother more committed to quenching the unaddressed passions left by a runaway husband and the flight towards the unfaithful husband of her beloved little sister are enough to push her towards the infamous "bad company".
A too-smart and no-less-whorish little friend attracts her to the "Sound", which would be the most captivating nightclub in the city. The transition from gym shoes in a bag to maternal heels and the first curiosity towards the effects of acid is inexorably brief. A bathroom marred by graffiti and improbable phone numbers will be the first stage on which she will perform her tragedy.
Uli Edel, an esteemed German director, crafts a raw, sordid film, aided by a muffled cinematography that skillfully weighs down the abundantly restless pathos generated by the film's images. Released in 1981 and set in the Berlin of the seventies, it stirred considerable clamor for exposing a reality of the time that scourged clusters of young, reckless people devoid of any control. Many sequences remain impressive, like the effect of Christiane's and her boyfriend Detlef's withdrawal, highlighted by copious vomiting. No less gruesome are the sequences of blood being let out in search of a miraculously intact vein to pierce. On the wrist, the ankle, the neck. Without hesitation, butchered flesh skewered by a lance called "sword".
The lethal whirlpool that will engulf Christiane is terrible. A youth burned by the continual search for some mark to be traded for heroin. Curiosity is great and the recklessness at least double. The vipers hesitate but willingly yield to the violent flattery of the inflamed lamb. Some masturbation that soon turns into a mercenary embrace or lashings in the back, as well as that never-digested friendship that predictably spills into an embarrassingly more passive than submissive concession. Contaminated, infected, meaningless loves consumed among the faux leather seats of the car of the moment and the greasy mattresses of a squalid hole occupied by the living dead. Three of her friends will meet death. One on the aforementioned mattress, another in a toilet forgotten by God. The last victim will appear among the articles of a randomly glimpsed newspaper.
David Bowie signs the soundtrack. Essential, in some cases also adjacent to the scenes, but I do not agree with the appearance, in my opinion exclusively propagandistic, in a concert-sequence where the protagonist participates. The record given as a gift by the mother's lover seems a launching pad for advertising something of the White Duke for the occasion. My impression is that of a deliberately glued scene in the film's structure and not coincidentally the participation acted as an ace up the sleeve for the promotion of the work. Perhaps I am wrong, but one never knows...
Recreated by Claudio Caligari in 1983 with "Amore tossico", Edel's work, drawn from the namesake book by Christiane Vera Felscherinow, is of notable interest, with its explicit, raw images, intending to invite the youth to avoid that crap that can reduce you to a waste to be shredded. The effect, unfortunately, was not as hoped, despite being shown in schools for several years.
Was this, then, the average life of a teenager at the dawn of the '80s? Well, it seems so. Premising that the real Christiane, after a period of detoxification, returned to the cravings of heroin a few years ago, well... What is life, then, for a young person approaching the first decade of the 2000s? Who knows.
Loading comments slowly
