Nothing easier than sticking with the drunk, babbling, embarrassingly misbehaving Berger, who boasted of silly memories, flaunted a thousand or ten thousand sex stories and then even started to fiddle with himself in front of the camera, who ended up being so run down that he reported to the “jungle camp” to exhibit his misery there once more, this hopeless madman, who was by no means presented at these performances, but rather presented himself as a horror piece, as a ruin, with nothing, absolutely nothing, to the glamor of the past, of the “most beautiful man in the world” for a few years, for whom Thomas Mann would certainly have paid more than five francs in tips and for whom not only Oscar Wilde would have voluntarily gone to prison at any time.
Willi Winkler on the death of Helmut Berger: picture of a man – media
