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TThe policies of Berlin's nightclub door are among the most discussed in the world. The online forums detail the appropriate clothing, what to say and how to line up to enter. In the German capital, bouncers not only play the role of security, but also conservative, seeking to know who can handle the extreme depths. hedonism and who could remain speechless or yawn at what they see.
Today, far from the badual freedom, relentless techno and substance abuse that characterize Berlin's nightlife, I am sitting in a bright white room with a gray rug and ruthless lights . In front of me are three men who have become infamous for this appointment, playing a key role in creating the renowned and secretive doorway policy. They are the subject of a new documentary, Berlin Bouncer, by German director David Dietl: a humanizing vision of people who have reached this level of weird celebrity.
"In the early '90s, I was just partying," says Sven Marquardt, the tattooed face porter at the most revered club, Berghain. "Just the feast without stopping." Coming from the Prenzlauer Berg district in East Berlin, Marquardt spent his youth photographing the communities of the counter-culture of Communist Germany. When the wall fell, he was eager to enjoy the increased freedom on the other side. going out so often ended up getting him a door job.
The two men sitting next to him followed the same path: to find pleasure, then to work in the lawless craftsmen who occupied the squats and abandoned buildings of the city. Frank Künster moved from Herzhausen to Berlin to attend university before nightlife eclipsed his studies. He has worked in clubs now missing, such as Cookies and Delicious Donuts, before becoming bouncer and owner of the King Size Bar, which closed in 2017. Smiley Baldwin, an ex-American GI, who was posted at the East-West border, also had a long stay at Cookies and now owns his own security company.
Berlin Bouncer removes the curtain to reveal the personal stories and artistic ambitions of these characters, as well as the realities of life and aging in a rapidly changing city. Künster is filmed putting wooden logs on his fire, Baldwin returns home to visit his family, Marquardt buys black designer t-shirts: these bbad moments remind ordinary people who stand between clubbers and a weekend of debauchery.
"It's an absurd job," says Künster in the film. "I give something to people. That's why people give me positive attention. Although he seems to appreciate that much more than the other two, not hesitating to share pictures of girls showing him at the door, they are all three deeply aware of the temporary value of admiration. "You have to distinguish between private and professional life, between false and true friends," Marquardt says with a slight Berlin accent. "Sometimes people contact me or scream in the queue:" Hey, Sven, we took a picture together once, remember? "And I do not remember that person."
Some people might consider door politics in Berlin – which rely mainly on bouncers' intuition to decide who comes and go – as infuriating or absurdly random, while others view them as the original guardians of safe spaces. Marquardt says he "has a responsibility to the guests and the protection of their freedom of expression. I try to create an environment where no one feels threatened by his badual orientation and disposition. The important thing is the combination of different people. If you do it right, then I'm sure you can say it's political. It's all about tolerance. "
Marquardt insists that my use of the word "curation" makes them look pompous, but all agree that the most satisfying part of the job is knowing the people they've selected Fit neatly and that the night was euphoric. "When you see the crowd inside, and what you've prepared turns into ecstasy, and you know you've played a part in it, it's special," says Künster.
As Berlin goes through a new period of regeneration, with wealthier German statesmen from Western Europe and North America trying to enjoy wild weekends and cheap rent, many are wondering whether its Nightlife will survive a further increase in gentrification. The courts may have decided that Berghain should enjoy the same tax advantages as other German cultural institutions such as museums and theaters, but smaller theaters face Berlin – specific problems, as Baldwin explains.
"Most big cities have a party zone where all club licenses are awarded and everything is there. Berlin, on the other hand, allowed licensing everywhere. And if a neighbor says that the music is too loud, even if the neighbor has moved in after the club, the person who complains has the right. (A residential noise complaint ended up being the coffin nail for Künster's King Size Bar.)
"The festive scene of a city is inevitably shaped by its softness and gentrification," explains Marquardt. "The more we get gentrified, the more we slide, the more boring the party scene in the city." He quotes a recent trip to Australia. "In Sydney, for example, nothing happens."
They are now seeing the DIY energy that has shaped the Berlin niche in neighboring countries. "Eastern Europe has a flourishing and wonderful club scene reminiscent of Berlin in the '90s," says Marquardt. "Belgrade and Tbilisi are perfect for partying right now." And in their own city, they remain optimistic that a new generation of young people in clubs will carry the torch. "It's all about youth culture and power, and it's always been about youth culture and power," Baldwin said. "I just hope it continues. I want to find my space within this power. "
The interview ends and I leave with Marquardt by the long staircase of the Berlinale Palast Theater. The staff members who watch each floor joke at each other: "Should we let him in?" "I always imagine that when I leave this life, I will enter an intermediate circle of hell. Like a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, "he mocks in the film. "I'm going to have to hit a few times. And they will say, "No. Not you. "
• The bouncer from Berlin is out now.
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