Berlin – The multi-facetted city in film and literatur

A simplified depiction of Berlin

A city of many faces

As an introduction to Berlin, I would like to quote a passage from the first edition of my book “Exploring Berlin” (my recommendation to anyone visiting Berlin):

“When I moved to what was then West Berlin a long time ago from one of the many parts of Germany long-time Berliners call ‘the provinces’, I was not all that impressed. The pomp and splendour of imperial Germany loomed large for me in the wide streets. Even alternative Kreuzberg seemed more interested in navel-gazing than in adventurous new beginnings. There was little evidence of the back then sometimes billed ‘avant-garde city’, where idealistic work was being done on the future to facilitate a free human society without power structures (my ideal at the time, and probably still). And of course, consumerism along the Ku’damm was buzzing - during the day in the luxury shops, at night on the street itself, which also served as a somewhat upmarket red-light district. But first impressions are often deceptive, or at least you get used to everything, and then the Wall came down.

I remember in the ‘Kumpelnest’ back then the legendary all-night hangout for anyone who somehow didn’t belong anywhere. We jived in youthful, hopeful naivety about this and that, including the burden of Germany’s past, which everyone I knew wanted to escape from, into an uncertain, hopefully positive future. To West Berlin, for example, which we, with unfounded optimism, described as a blank page. As a blank, perhaps erased, perhaps new city. West Berlin looked a bit like that, with its large postwar wastelands, the barren ‘no-man's-land’ opposite the still unfinished Kulturforum (now called Potsdamer Platz, back then Germany’s largest fleamarket on weekends), the old buildings that were often more run-down than renovated, the new buildings that often seemed out of place, and the visionary buildings, such as the Philharmonie and Haus der Kulturen der Welt.”

On rereading the text, I realised it is very much about setting a city (a ‘vanishing point’, as I called it elsewhere) as a place of escape into happiness or to a ‘good’, ‘free’, even ‘guilt-free’ life. It is thus possible to read West Berlin as a kind of utopia, although this hardly corresponds or corresponded to reality. Berlin lies just as much on the other side of hope, often making it perceived as the capital of guilt, the heir of past crimes and atrocities. To put it bluntly: Berlin inhales the future and exhales the past. Or the other way round. The idea of the search for happiness has me thinking of a film/book as a possible cultural gateway into the city: The Legend of Paul and Paula and The Legend of Happiness Without End”. Despite my West-centric preamble, both are East German works. In the ether of thought, that distinction matters little, but here’s a practical warning. The following text is a true treasure chest of spoilers; while such things are often deemed OK when it comes to literature, most of us prefer to see movies with ‘unspoilered’ eyes and minds. So, if you are so inclined, maybe watch the movie before reading this text.

Die „Paula“ in der Rummelburger Bucht sieht zwar ähnlich aus, ist aber nicht mit dem Kahn aus dem Film identisch – darum ist sie aber noch keine „Laura“ (die Spitze wird spätestens im weiteren Text klar)

The legend of Paul and Paula, or: In the beginning there was the film

The Legend of Paul and Paula (Regie: Heiner Carow) kam 1973 in die ostdeutschen Kinos und wurde der erfolgreichste Film der DDR. Warum? War es das Drehbuch von Ulrich Plenzdorf, Heiner Carow und Ingrid Reschke (die ursprünglich Regie führen sollte, aber während der Drehbuchentwicklung verstarb; der Film ist ihr gewidmet), waren es die attraktiven Hauptdarsteller, war es der Soundtrack¹soundtrack that made the Puhdys (later the most successful of all GDR bands), or was it the sometimes fairytale-like images that somehow seemed to weave western hippiedom into the tapestry of the GDR. In an interview after reunification, director Carow had an explanation for the success of the film: “For the first time a heroine did not seek happiness in working for the communist cause, so to speak, but was instead devoted to love””. The reference to the subject of ‘happiness’ is important here, because enabling or conditioning the happiness of people or citizens (of all variations) is just as much a promise of any ideology as it is the actual task of governments and the subject of philosophy. Happiness is a concept important in the defence and makeup of any utopia. Carow's quote references the GDR narrative that its citizens saw working for communism (‘the good’) as the fulfilment of their own wishes, as their purpose in life. A daring assumption, but one that is taken seriously in many areas (religion, do-goodery and politics), albeit with little connection to the truth. That said: such considerations are unlikely to have contributed to the film’s popularity. The lead character’s devotion to love not only offended the GDR censors (who may have detected Western/capitalist influences in the film). In West Germany, a feminist magazine wrote: “the eye of the camera forces viewers to consider women from the perspective of a horny square” I found the quote in the commendable article Der Untergang des alten Berlin in der Legende von Paul und Paula by Stephanie Warnke (linked here), in which the author reports on the initial outrage the film triggered in her when she first watched it in the mid-1990s. I can sympathise with her reaction, which, according to her, came out of a “late feminist, West German perspective” ”. I also found the image of women/people strange when I first saw the film in 2022 (but could quite enjoy the almost fairy-tale-like quality, the evocative images and my confusion at what it was all about). Others often highlighted the power of love, the self-liberation of the individual and the escape from the constraints of political-ideological values (an appropriate commentary by Stephan Brössel is linked here).

The film tells the story of two people, Paul and Paula, living on the same street, but divided (in work and street sides) by progress - Paula (a single parent) lives in a dilapidated house on the ‘yesteryear’ side of the street, Paul (a family man) lives opposite in a brand new concrete apartment block on the ‘future’ side of the street (the shift from old to new is clear in the first images of the film; as the dust settles from the demolition blast of an old building, a new building becomes visible). Paula is a simple worker. Paul conforms to the prevailing morals and society and is therefore “upwardly mobile”. Nevertheless, the mismatched couple find each other in a moment of escapism; both are out to find a lover for the night and then end up in Paul’s garage together. The location is important, as Paula and Paul’s sexuality and love could not be played out in a bourgeois context at the beginning, i.e. in a normal bedroom. Their newfound love almost immediately threatens to break apart because of Paul’s conservatism, but the romantic-sexual factor is stronger than Paul’s need to conform. In Warneke’s interpretation, it is Paula’s self-sacrifice (she insists, despite a doctor’s warning, on having another child, this time Paul’s, and dies while in labour) that liberates Paul the man and, at the end of the film, transforms him into a harbinger of a caring, masculine and socialist future. Berlin, city of (dearly gained) happiness?

The Legend of Paul and Paula ” is regarded as a “Berlin movie”. It both reflects the architectural reality (and transformation) of the city and features characters who use the local dialect. Here, two important female characters (Paula and Paul’s first wife, Ines, portrayed as a kind of “marriage opportunist”) stand out. Today, the strong localisation, the establishment of an East Berlin identity and the portrayal of a city as a formative culture might contribute even more to the film’s fairytale-like quality then back in the 1970s; cultures have long since become optional, with Berlin as well as other cities becoming, for the multitudes, homes of choice rather than fate. Stephanie Warnke mentions in her article that the Paula character uses the Berlin dialect thanks to actress Angelica Domröse - who grew up in the city. The original script had her speaking standard German, and of the main characters only Ines using the local dialect (presumably to create a contrast between beauty, status and that great betrayer of one’s pedigree: accent).

An 'identity-creating' playground under construction, park bench on Paul-und-Paula-Ufer during renovation work, Singerstrasse in 2024

Location, location ...

It is possible to link the film to several places in today’s Berlin, but those places have changed dramatically. Friedrichshain’s Singerstraße (not named in the film, but the prefabricated building with the number 51 is visible) was where the homes of the eponymous lovers stood. Here, clean, modern concrete blocks and decaying tenement buildings once faced each other. Today, no reminder of that conflict between old and new remains, but the prefabs have by now grown old. I would like to make a left-field observation about the (current and former) redesign. In 2022, the Singerstraße paddling pool was removed and the site, together with surrounding facilities, to be redeveloped. On its website, the Berlin government describes the site as an ‘identity-forming playground’. To clarify: the contrasts between local/standard German language and old/new buildings in the film can be viewed through the prism of the identity debate. But whatever is supposed to turn a paddling pool/playground into something that creates whatever identity remains unclear to me. Perhaps the children are supposed to play there and become children. I believe this might be an example of linguistic opportunism (‘identity’ was an identity-creating and advertising buzzword in politics in the early 2020s). The new communist buildings were certainly also intended to have some identity-forming value, while the old buildings expressed a fading identity. Should these brand-new identities somehow always replace or even erase an old one?

Another relevant location is Rummelsburg Bay; it is the backdrop to one of the film’s most famous scenes, a dream sequence in which Paul and Paula are married on a ship amidst Paula’s ancestors (the latter were boatmen; the family abandoned the tradition as there was no son available to keep it afloat). It is a strange scene which, with its strong linking of sexuality to a kind of fortuitous annihilation of the individual (see below) can be almost frightening. Family history (or powers or procreation) is a recurring theme in the film. For example, a sensual scene between the eponymous lovers becomes a faded black-and-white image in a frame that is an obvious part in a historical sequence of such dual portraits. But back to the dream sequence: Paula’s ancestors tie her and Paul to their marital bed with anchor chains, cover them with flowers (only Paula’s face remains visible) and set the bed on fire. In any case, the scene can be read in many ways, and has spawned its own local history. The place itself, the shore of Rummelsburg Bay, had been referred to as Paul-und-Paula-Ufer for some time before the name became official around 2000. The street sign has frequently being stolen by fans and there is also a bench dedicated to ‘all Berlin lovers’. Standing at the Paul-und-Paula-Ufer, the radical changes between past and present are obvious. The film scene shows barges and the rather bare shore of the Stralau peninsula. Houseboats have since replaced the working ships, while Stralau is now replete with new buildings and industrial monuments converted into luxury flats. On the Rummelsburg side, a new street honours the screenwriter, East German writer Ulrich Plenzdorf, and there are other street names in the surrounding area with links to the film, among them: Ingrid-Reschke-Straße. The new buildings (begun in the early 2020s) are impersonal in a stale modern way; to my surprise, I found an English-language site online that offers high-priced flats in Plenzdorf-Straße and, according to the note on the website, only accepts enquiries from hopeful tenants aged 18-35. This may be anecdotal, but a lot has changed since the days when it was assumed that the city, somehow, belonged to its inhabitants.

Eine der Besonderheiten des Films ist (für mich) seine Offenheit in Sachen Interpretation. Häuserbau, Geschichtsbild, Identität, Reproduktionskraft, Feminismus, sexuelles Glück, die halbe Freiheit und weitere Themen lassen sich finden.  Viele würden den Film ein Werk der DDR-Kritik nennen, und das ist sicher nicht falsch. Das Werk kritisierte zur Zeit der Veröffentlichung den Anpassungsdruck und die (für ein sozialistisches Land seltsame, weil nicht vorgesehene) Spießigkeit der DDR. Der Alltag mit seinen Problemen und der (auch nicht vorgesehenen) Mangel an gewissen Produkten wurden realitätsnah dargestellt. Die Reaktion von staatlicher Seite war nicht enthusiastisch. Zwar hatte SED-Chef Honecker selbst die Zulassung des Films genehmigt (die DDR-Zensur gilt als scharf und erfolgte eigentlich gegen die zeitlokal geltende Gesetze, die eine freie öffentliche Meinungsäußerung garantieren sollten), er wollte sich als Freund der Jugend zeigen. Hier ist zu beachten, dass Honecker erst seit 1971 der mächtigsten Mann der DDR war und sich als, gegenüber der ‚alten Riege‘, kulturell und gesellschaftlich liberal zeigen wollte (obwohl er zuvor dafür bekannt gewesen war, nicht ganz linientreuen Kulturschaffenden ’spießbürgerlichen Skeptizismus‘ vorzuwerfen). Jedenfalls, der Film eckte bei der ideolgiesicheren Zensurbehörde an. Bei der Premiere sollten, laut Erzählung des Regisseurs, 800 Staatsbeauftragte eisige Stimmung verbreiten, den Film Totschweigen. Das klappte nicht. Die 400 ‚eigenwilligen‘ weiteren Besucher klatschten lauter als die 800 empörten Werteverteidiger schwiegen. Dennoch, die Kritiken der staatstragenden Presse waren negativ, es wurde von einer “concentration on the erotic experience” ”, of a half-baked film. The unease of the opinion-dictating elites certainly appealed to the audiences of the time. Queues outside cinemas extended around the block.

Outside the world of the GDR censors, who were keen on clear pro-state statements, “Paul and Paula” does not actually have to be read as an anti-communist critique of the regime. It is possible to see it as an attempt to show a way to a better society or a better life than the one people had, East or West. One certainly valid criticism – the female lead, seen from one perspective, is dehumanised into a goddess of fertility and sacrifice while the male lead is degraded into an opportunistic fool to be converted into a good man – can be seen as part of an artistic process with an open outcome. I believe that in such processes, nothing needs to be sacrosanct, and nothing needs to be said – or even imagined – with the utmost clarity. Instead: the individual audience member retains the actual, if only personal, right of interpretation, becomes the free part of the artistic equation. This freedom is fabulous, and only possible with works that do not need to have a clear meaning or purpose. Unfortunately, the claim to correct interpretation is today often centralised (once again), and art is often assigned an easily describable meaning or purpose. A walk through Berlin is a good antidote. In the current urban landscape, people still often encounter the liberating tension between social conservatism and dropoutism, self-expression and conformity, between lobbyism, do-goodery and selfishness. In the East as in the West. Even if the film was cancelled in East Germany after the two main actors left for West Germany in the early 1980s.

The publishing house Neues Deutschland is located opposite Singerstraße. It was under construction during the filming of "Paul and Paula"; in 2011, an inscription was added along the ground floor, with a quote from Karl Marx on the right-hand side: "The social revolution cannot draw its poetry from the past, but only from the future".

A book dares more than a thousand pictures

In 1979, Ulrich Plenzdorf published the novel The Legend of Happiness Without End”, based on the screenplay for Paul/Paula. The first part retells the movie; the second part sets off for new shores. Paul lives on after Paula’s death, without happiness and without love. He meets Laura, who is less naïve, less in need of love, less cuddly, but looks very much like Paula. Paul believes in Laura somehow being Paula sent back to him, although she insists on being called Laura, and Laura has nothing against a relationship with Paul. She gets on well with the children, but somehow also insists on doing her own thing. Soon, a suspicion arises. Could it be that this new, unexpected happiness is not because of a kind fate, but to the omnipresent power of the state, intent on bringing Paul back into his old job for the government? When the penny drops, Paul despairs at the reality of a life curated by the powers that be via Laura, his false happiness. After a serious accident, he is confined to a wheelchair.

The Legend of Happiness Without End  is far more than a book capitalizing on a successful movie. Some people watching Paul and Paula will find the simplifications typical of visual media (beautiful/ugly, male/female) irritating. Paul is a handsome, skinny, tall and young man, the embodiment of sensual-sexual romance, who competes with an unhandsome, chubby, short and old (but wealthy) adversary for Paula’s love: the tyre dealer Reifen-Saft, whose very name (‘tyre-juice’) makes him unlikeable. Paul even lowers himself to the indignant battle try “He’s not up to it anymore!”  (alluding to his rival’s sexual potency). You can either laugh about it or cringe. In the second part of the book, Saft is portrayed differently. He gets his humanity back, so to speak, and helps others (including Paul) where he can. Paul’s first wife, Ines, portrayed in the film as a simple, selfish opportunist, also surprises us with her humanity and openness towards the paralysed Paul. It almost seemed to this reader as if Plenzdorf wanted to correct some of the negative effects of the sometimes blunt medium a film is. In one of the final scenes, Paul simply enters West Berlin. In his wheelchair, he moves around the city, notices with astonishment that ‘in the West’ there is greater inclusivity than in his home country thanks to disabled accesses to buildings and public transport stations (even if not as common as they are today). Although impressed, Paul returns to East Berlin. And then he vanishes.

Paul’s disappearance at the end of the novel may be considered a departure from the ideological discussions, partly because of his brief visit to the West, but it doesn’t have to be. Perhaps it is the fairytale ending befitting a legend. The openness and complexity of the film-novel duo is a beautiful homage to a Berlin that allows or even suggests lives led off the beaten tracks laid out by ideologies, history, guilt or belonging to some defined society/community. A city that does not and perhaps never did exist in this form and that would certainly not be adequately described by this sentence. It perhaps remains to be said that it is not only the film’s Paula that can be viewed critically. People thrown into the male gender may also consider the portrayal of the attractive man as a conformist, mainly sexually interested and opportunistic being (still, Paul never reverts to brutality and, once detached from society, even comes across as rather cool) as unflattering. Transforming the legendary characters Paula and Paul into the less straightforward human figures Laura and Paul is well worth the read.

From A to B to somewhere else ...

Sources, Links, References ...

“Die Legende von Paul und Paula, DEFA, GDR 1973, Screenplay: Ulrich Plenzdorf, Heiner Carow

“Die Legende vom Glück ohne Ende”, Hinstorff Verlag, Rostock 1979

“Der Untergang des alten Berlin in der Legende von Paul und Paula”, Stephanie Warnke : https://werkstattgeschichte.de/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/WG43_109-121_WARNKE_PAULA.pdf

“Die Legende von Paul und Paula – Einer der schönsten Liebesfilme der DEFA wird 50!”, https://www.adk.de/de/news/index.htm?we_objectID=65159

“Die subversive Kraft empathischer Liebe im DEFA-Film DIE LEGENDE VON PAUL UND PAULA”, https://www.uni-muenster.de/Germanistik/ffm/Paradigma/paradigma2/broessel_diesubversivekraftemphatischerliebeimdefafilmdielegendevonpaulundpaulina.html

1. The songs were composed by Peter Gotthardt, who based them on Western influences; the song "Wenn ein Mensch lebt" is indebted to "Spicks & Specks" by the Bee Gees. Ulrich Plenzdorf wrote the lyrics, using Old Testament quotations. ↩︎