jürgen fauth’s muckworld

This is not what architect Peter Eisenman had in mind when he designed the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, a field of concrete slabs (or stelae) on a 4.7 acre site between Potsdamer Platz and the Brandenburg Gate: “The stelae are designed to produce an uneasy, confusing atmosphere, and the whole sculpture aims to represent a supposedly ordered system that has lost touch with human reason.” (Wikipedia)

It’s possible that the man hopping from stone to stone like Q*Bert in the photo above is enacting some sort of postmodern commentary on Eisenman’s intentions — after all, “losing touch with human reason” is second nature to some of us, and “an uneasy, confusing atmosphere” is what we like to call “the modern condition.” Either way, instead of remembrance, introspection, and grief, the 2,711 stones seem to invite inappropriate behavior. Visitors can be seen sunbathing on the stelae, playing hide-and-seek, or eating curry sausages.

Other scandals and failures accompanied the memorial: the stelae were covered in anti-graffiti paint by Degussa, a company that produced Zyklon B for the gas chambers, the stones are already beginning to crumble, light fixtures are broken, and Der Spiegel reports that in the darkness, drunkards from a nearby club come to urinate and horny couples screw in the maze.

Perhaps R. Mutt would have enjoyed the Stelenfeld’s playground repurposing, but there is a harsh lesson here about the disconnect between artistic intention and actual use; clearly, the memorial’s symbolism is too arbitrary, too wide open to interpretation, to produce the desired effect. I don’t know of another memorial that fails on such a spectacular scale.

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Twice a year, Berlin celebrates the “long night of museums,” during which over 100 of the city’s galleries, churches, memorials and other cultural institutions open their doors for eight hours, from six to two a.m., all for the price of a single ticket. Shuttle buses connect several areas around town, and most venues offer special tours, musical acts, installations, and people in period costumes. I was reminded of Bonnaroo by the festival atmosphere and overwhelming amount of stuff on display — there’s enough there for several long weeks of museums.

We began at the Martin-Gropius-Bau with Scythian mummies and an exhilarating Cindy Sherman retrospective, and stopped by the Abgeordnetenhaus where Prussians played the flute and marched into the state parliament. At Potsdamer Platz, we discovered that the Filmmuseum’s “lounge” was awfully misnamed, hopped a bus that took a tortured route to Schloss Charlottenburg, and had Weinschorle in the Ehrenhof. The inside of the Schloss contains awesome splendors, including an incredibly garish collection of Chinese porcelain and a glorious chapel. Unfortunately, an ornery Prussian demanded special tickets for access to the gardens, and we passed.

Back at Museumsinsel, the Altes Museum in front of the Dom was dramatically lit while crowds on the lawn blissed out to amplified classical music. Somehow we found ourselves in the catacombs and made our way to the newly reopened Bode- Museum, which impressed us with a spectacular display of medieval sculptures, many of them in wild color. After a quick run through the Pergamon and the Egyptian collection of the Altes Musem, we were ready to wind down with the festival’s 10th anniversary cake at the Podewil’sche Palais afterparty, where Afri-Cola screened short films and the champagne was free. More photos on flickr.

Whenever the name of your travel destination includes the letters “B”, “A”, and “D” — be it Baden Baden, Marienbad, or Bad Karma — you should dispense with all welcome ceremonies, postpone unpacking, and head straight from customs to the nearest spa.

That, at least, is our tradition when we arrive in Wiesbaden. There is nothing to counteract jetlag like submerging yourself in the steaming hot sulfur waters of the Kaiser-Friedrich-Therme, a 1913 Wilhelminian spa decked out in Jugendstil tiles. You can drift from the cold pool to the Finnish sauna to the Irish-Roman steam bath, and nobody’s wearing towels like in the photo above. It’s one of our favorite places in the world, and the best way I know of to make yourself feel human again after the indignities of economy class travel.

Kaiser-Friedrich-Therme Wiesbaden: English / Deutsch / Wikipedia

Jude Law looks a lot better when he’s lit by the Mediterranean sun, wearing a striped t-shirt, and steering a sail boat than in a suit and tie under phosphorescent lights in a London architect’s office. This is only one of the many lessons to be drawn from Anthony Mighella’s first feature as sole writer/director since Truly Madly Deeply (1991). He was better off adapting Ondaatje and Highsmith: the convoluted, contrived plot of this class struggle/domestic relationship psychobabble adultery crapfest is almost as lame as the dialogue. Juliette Binoche (hampered by a Sophie grade Eastern European accent) and Robin Wright Penn manage occasional moments of grace, but it’s Vera Farmiga, in her all-too brief scenes as a thieving King’s Cross hooker, who gives the hackneyed proceedings the only glimpses of real vitality.

Breaking and Entering. Anthony Minghella, 2006. *

• Rotten Tomatoes: 33%

Sidney Pollack’s first documentary is about his friend, the famous architect. Much better than “My Architect,” and much better than the Guggenheim show–the models don’t quite capture what the camera can. Interesting character. Amazing work. Julian Schnabel.

• Marcy’s Review