Thomas Gottschalk has written the third part of his memoirs. The first two had nicely ironic titles, “Autumn Blonde” and “Autumn Colorful.” You could tell from them that the great showmaster would at least say goodbye to his outward shine with a light version of melancholy: Thommy, who had been in a boyishly good mood for so long, is now an older man, but still doesn’t look like the pensioner who plays outdoor chess Shadow of the climbing frame. The new work is called “Unfiltered” and that’s already a question: Is Gottschalk now releasing unvarnished views on the times or even the spirit of the times? Does he say what he thinks about colleagues, about young people and about Oliver Pocher? The answer is: Yes, and if you were to ask whether a small filter would have been helpful in one place or another, you would have to say yes again.

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