M. Beisenherz: Sorry, I’m here privately
Black Forest virus
Ever since our columnist showed his wife a fairly popular 1980’s TV series, she’s been so different from him. What the cause of it might be?
By Mickey Beisenherz
What have I done to my wife? I owe this wonderful person great inspiration over the years. So many amazing shows, books and series she showed me. “Succession”, “Years and Years”, “Fleabag”. Brilliant gems from HBO or BBC, which only made it onto the German market later, but I was already familiar with them before the feature pages could wallow in their own truffle swine.
And how do I thank her? I infect them with the Glottertal virus. It must have happened between Christmas Eve and New Year’s that she sat next to me for a few minutes too long as I sprawled in my armchair in my bathrobe and watched the adventures of Professor Brinkmann and his Black Forest A-Team. My wife was “hooked” there, as the saying goes.
It was probably one of the confidence-inspiring moments when a hazelnut-toned Klausjürgen Wussow ended a monologue with an embalming “Nech”. Not even a woman who, as a child of Persian refugees in the Ruhr area in the 1990s, was raised by people like Harry Wijnvoord, Jörg Draeger or the Prince of Bel-Air can resist this charm. She had never seen anything like this kitschy Black Forest cake.
I’m eight years ahead of her, I know about this soulfulness back then, while my wife is seeing all of this for the first time. The series is a wonderful portrayal of what Germany was like around 1986. At least in the vicinity of Freiburg. Schimanski’s Duisburg was less burled.
Nobody jumped into the convertible like Sascha Hehn
Wussow gave the Ur-Drosten and earned the trust of the population. On Sundays people went for walks, the bourgeois milieu met for wine in tourist bars, and the better-off drove Audi 200s. Of course, this excludes Sascha Hehn, who had managed to keep the car door handle of his Golf Cabriolet so virginal through daring entry jumps in around 70 episodes like head nurse Hildegard.
Sascha Hehn in his role as the stilted Filius, who digs his way through the estrogenic hospital district and in the first few episodes even competed with his omnipotent old man for the favor of the borderline holy sister Christa. The inadequate son with the dagger in his pocket (it was a dagger, wasn’t it?), the super father, well, that’s Shakespearean material.
We, the TV viewers, were allowed to accompany him on the way from the Glotterstrizzi to the established Brink team. He was unlucky too. Among other things, with this ambitious doctor who, as soon as he married her, turns out to be professionally committed and lets him waste away. And then the career-seeking wife hires an attractive nanny, the siren-like Anja Kruse. How stupid can you be!
Recurring pattern: affairs, cheating, infidelities were always the fault of the nagging or disinterested woman. Sentences like “Keep going, you’re just driving me into her arms!” were not uncommon. It’s fair that the script regularly brushed the ladies aside when they got bored, stressed, or got in the way of new Brinkmann love affairs. Cancer, infections or the winding country roads of the Glottertal were definitely helpful.
How do I say that now? I have the feeling that I have been treated much more attentively at home for the past few days. The eighties work!
Thank you, Professor Brinkman.
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