Auf dem Weg zum Flughafen

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Atlanta, Nov. 2013

Gerade als ich zu verstehen begann, in Amerika zu sein, war ich schon wieder weg.

Montreal Airport – Gespräch mit einer US-Grenzbeamtin

Wenn man von Montreal aus in die USA fliegen will, wird man schon am Flughafen von amerikanischen Grenzbeamten kontrolliert. Ich bin auf dem Weg zurück nach Berlin. Es ist bereits mein zweiter Versuch, am Vortag habe ich meinen Flug knapp verpasst, nicht zuletzt weil die Schlange bei der US-Einreisebehörde so lange war.

“What is this?” die US-Beamte deutet auf mein Ebook. “This is a book”, antworte ich.“ – “Where are you going?” – “Berlin.” – “Four fingers of your right hand, thumb…” meine Fingerabdrücke werde genommen. “Take off your glasses.” Ich werde fotografiert. Ich lächle. “You look offensive.” sagt die Beamte. “Well, I missed my flight yesterday, not least, because this procedure takes so long” erkläre ich mich.

Die amerikanische Zollbeamte: “Well, it seems that everyone wants to attack us. We have to be cautious.” “Not everyone wants to attack you,” antworte ich, “actually very, very few.”

“But we don’t know who it is”, sagt sie. “Not me” antworte ich. – “You have the privilege to visit my beautiful country” sagt die US-Beamte. “Well, I don’t want to visit your beautiful country”, gebe ich zurück, “I just want to go home.” – “So why don’t you take a direct flight from Canada to Germany? I am sure there are direct flights.“ – “Oh, for sure, in the future I will try everything to avoid your beautiful country as best as I can” antworte ich. – “Go!“ sagt sie.

Fuck the Story

In spring 2013 I went to Austin for the SXSW-conference. On my first day there, I went by random into one of the many talks. A young guy, who was introduced as a brilliant thinker and maybe the next Steve Jobs went on stage. He told a well crafted story, about the problems of the world and how they can be fixed – a great talk.

He had thought carefully about his story, it was a very convincing story. But – and it took me quite a while to realize – what he said, was pretty banal. It felt new and exciting, but it was not.

A great story, almost no content. And I am sure the guy had spent much more time thinking about his story than thinking about what he wanted to say – these are two different things. But so often people take the story for the content and vice versa. The authors as well, as the audience.

A story is a construction, and if we build this construction in a way, that it lets us see things, that we could not see without the construction: it is a good thing! If the construction functions as a tower that lets us look into the distance: Great!

And sometimes stories do exactly that. They let us see things.

But most often the story is a construction, that is in between us and the thing we are interested in. Like a wall. So we look at the wall, not at the thing, that is behind it. The author puts a wall between the audience and the reality behind the wall.

So the audience watches the wall, and they even might enjoy it. Because it might be a pretty pretty wall. But is that really, what we want?

I rewired my brain using Korsakow over the last 13 years, and I have to say: I don’t enjoy it any more to watch the wall. I enjoy complexity (at least to a certain point), I enjoy that an informed author shows me around, but does not tell me what to think.

Korsakow is a tool that allows authors to create open narratives. Flexible films. The author does not pre-think the paths. The author of a Korsakow-film is like a guide that shows you his favorite places, but he does not tell you what to think.

But I often get the criticism: people say: “This is boring”. These people say, that the audience wants to get a story told and that the audience does not want to do the work of the author. And I agree to a certain point. It is not about the audience doing the work of the author. There still needs to be a strong author that works – hard – do create meaningful viewpoints; a strong author that voices his opinion, a strong author that simplifies reality to a point that it can be understood without spending too much time.

But I have to say: I get terribly frustrated if authors oversimplify. And it seems to me, that this is what authors usually do for the sake of the story. The story needs it simpler, than the audience. And I can see this everywhere: In documentary films, in journalism, in politics. People get more and more frustrated with that. Just like me, who rewired his brain with Korsakow. Other people are currently re-wireing their brains with the internet.

It is the beauty of computer-based storytelling, that you have more freedom. More freedom as an author, more freedom as the viewer. Open and flexible stories can be done in a way it can not be done in a film. And it can be done better, on a computer than in any other medium.

I totally dislike, when the author pre-thinks the story. When the author seduces the audience to think, what he or she wants them to think. By using cheap tricks. The cheap tricks of storytelling, perfected in linear film.

Most of the time, I am audience as well. And when I sense, how I get seduced by an author, and I notice that, when I recognize the tools of drama, when the story is _too_ good: I get an allergic reaction and:

I do not believe the story – I just don’t buy it.

When I make a korsakow-film ( the last one is geld.gr – Money and the Greek, a Korsakow-film about the financial crisis in Greece ) I don’t want to convince anyone of anything. I want to discuss ideas. In this case the ideas that I found on my travels in Greece and talking with people.

The goal of a good Korsakow-film is not to come up with answers. Good Korsakow-films generate questions. And I think we don’t have to focus any more on the answers answers. There is a paradime shift. For a few years now, we live in the time of answers. Every smartphone is the gate to the answers. This is a new thing. I remember very well how difficult it was to get the them.

Now that we have the answers it is time to find the right questions.

Stories give answers.

Good nonlinear narratives create relevant questions.

This is, what I am looking for.

Wie Vieh

nyc-metro

NYC, Montag 20. Juni 2005

Es ist laut und es stinkt. Ab und zu laufen Ratten aufgeregt zwischen den Gleisen hin und her. Die U-Bahn in NY ist die schlimmste, die ich jemals gesehen habe. Unmengen von Menschen quetschen sich durch schmierige und verwinkelte Gaenge, ueber enge Treppen. Staendig fallen Zuege aus, Gummibaender sperren ganze Bahnsteige ab, aus den Lautspraechern droehnen unverstaendliche Durchsagen. Manchmal gibt es, wenn der Zug nicht faehrt, einen Shuttle-Bus-Service. Manchmal nicht.

Ein Schock sind die massiven Stahl-Dreh-Tueren, durch die man an einigen Stationen hindurchmuss. Es gibt sie in zwei Variationen. In schwarzem Stahl, oder die etwas modernere Edelstahl-Variante. Modell “Kerker” und Modell “Schlachthaus”.

Mädchenwohnung

nyc_nathalie

Brooklyn, Montag 13. Juni 2005

Die Waende im Schlafzimmer sind lila. Ueberall haengen Fotos von ihr. Von ihr und manchmal von ihr und von ihm. Ihn kenne ich. Er heisst Daniel. Die beiden sind seit zwei Jahren verheiratet. Im Regal steht ein Buch “Elegant Wedding”. Vor kuzem hat er sie verlassen. Sie hat gelogen und gestohlen, es ging nicht mehr. Jetzt macht sie eine Drogentherapie. Am Ende des Monats wird er die Wohnung aufloesen. Daniel ist froh, dass ich fuer ein paar Tage die Miete uebernehme. New York ist teuer. Daniel hat sich eine neue Wohnung gesucht. Er will nicht, dass sie ihn finden kann, wenn sie aus der Therapie entlassen wird.

Ich bin seit drei Tagen hier. Schoene Wohnung. Aber wenn ich im Treppenhaus Schritte hoere, schrecke ich auf. So viele Bilder von ihr, aber es mag kein Bild von ihr entstehen. Sie heisst Natalie. Es liegen Briefe herum. Und so wahnsinnig viel voellig belangloses Zeug. Hochglanz-Magazine, in denen die Welt der Schoenen und Reichen beschrieben wird. Ich blaettere sie durch und fuehle mich unwohl. Doeschen mit Schlankheitspillen stehen auch ueberall herum. Natalie hat 12 Jahre hier gewohnt und ist immer dicker geworden. Eine schoene Wohnung. Viele Fenster, sehr hell. Holzfussboden. Nachts um drei Uhr veranstalten Kids aus dem Haus nebenan ein Rennen mit frisierten Mopeds. Um 7 Uhr 30 weckt mich ein wummernder Bass. Dancefloor-Musik aus einer Nachbar-Wohnung. Ich habe einen sehr tiefen Schlaf. So schnell weckt mich nichts auf. Hier ist nicht ein Ort an dem die Menschen viel Ruecksicht aufeinander nehmen.

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