scenario : Tangerine Dream biopic and others

"Kraftwerk In Space, Or The Wonderful And Totally Made-Up Story Of Tangerine Dream"  

Welcoming message after the opening credits: "This is a film. It's not a biography; it's a film. As a matter of fact, most of the people involved in the making of this film haven't got the faintest clue about Tangerine's Dream genuine life story, and certainly haven't made any effort to check it out.... So take it for what it is, relax and enjoy the show. And on these words…"

Narrator (whose hairstyle and clothes will dramatically alter during the film according to the timeline. For ex. first appearing in the early 70s, he will sport the then appropriate -and now kitsch- style of the time: respectable, yet cautiously trying to look hip):

Narrator now in his fifties, looking very "TV-pro", complete with decisive hand movements (such as: one hand in pocket to start with, then slicing the air, advancing looking at the camera in an advantageous manner, etc.): "Tangerine Dream's music's influences’ ripples effect over the 30 years past -if not more- has been as wide and far-reaching as it has been underrated. The... stratospheric constructions of their ever elevating synthethised repetitive -yet discontinued- formulas have won them many fans and been hugely exploited by the crazy world of cinema-film soundtracks, from "Convoy" (plays an ultra-brief excerpt) to "Thief"" (another five second blast) "It even included –naturally albeit in an oblique manner and as a... shall we say totally unconscious" (ironical eyebrow lift) "inspiration for some traumatic Gallic sex drama."

Cut to cinema. Camera facing the spectators under a red light, listening to an electronic drone; soon they all grip their mouths, look away, seem horrified by what they see, start being sick.

"-But that may be story for another day." Narrator turns towards another camera in one of these rehearsed, dramatic effect stances.

"Our story starts, far far away from the squalid suburbs of Paris in the more tranquil surroundings of Koln University, in the winter term of 1970."

Police car sirens in the background, sound of anti-riot squad charging, students protesting, Molotov cocktails exploding, etc. “Enter Klaus.”

Enter Klaus (light blonde hair all the way down to his arse), swotting up on his maths exam, munching his glasses frame furiously: "Hmmm, hmm, aha I am thinking, yes. Ah. Now I see… Self-evidently." He bumps into another student, also hippy looking.

"Oh, eh, sorry maaaaaan, dinn't see you, peace! You alright, man?"

"Oh yes, maaaan, no harm done, love! No damage being made, cool... –Man."

"A-ha, so think I. So... you are presently unharmed -like, groovy- man?"

"Yeah dude, no sweat, like. But, hey, where are my manners?" Produces a box and proceeds to "skin up" religiously.

Narrator: "Enter Luther."

Enters Luther, an archetypal hippie with even longer hair and loose robe style. The setting: sunny countryside, naked people (all blonde, skinny, with painted flowers on their cheeks and so on) frolicking about. "These days were the days of Free Love" (narrator sounding envious but pretending not to be, now in early seventies garb himself as he appears on a podium, pointing with a stick at the scene paused on a screen behind him, university lecturer style) "where hippies had no qualms about sharing and giving, daring having a good time in protest at the soulless oppressive industrial society whatnot and soforth". Gentle orgy scene in the background set to the sound of flutes (lit like in a David Hamilton / Sarah Moon postcard). Narrator, looking cross: "In that respect was Luther very much a rebel."

Cut to gentle Luther, sharing a joint and getting increasingly stoned as he explains: "Yes I am thinking, ah, this here oppressive industrial society is bound to be brought to its knees with regards to its soulless nature, man.” His audience joins in: “-Man!” “Only by making a vigilant stand as we, children of the sixties do, can we have a duty towards the –man!-  ever closer forthcoming future yeah. Which is pretty cool when you think about it, right?” “-Right on, brother! / Far-out…” “ And so must we fulfil our politico-social destiny in the light of the... er... developing developments assured to stand tall as... er, is only natural to matter momentous in their nature yeah. Uncontrollably momentous. This totally righteous feeling of well-being is bound to stand ultimately” “-Bound to stand!” “as a provocation to the likes of them yeah? And they, er... soul-destroying crap. It is imperative we must fulfill our destiny!

Phew this herb is creaming my crotch, babe: why don't you go down to check it?"

Narrator (voice-over, think Tommy Lee Jones maybe?): "It was on their first British tour that the lads were introduced to English folk music."

Hans (in a hotel reception, surveying alphabetically ordered luggage cases): "Aaaah, all in order. The sweet satisfaction of structure and volume combined. ... Bros, bros, I have just had the most luminous idea!"

Luther: "What can it be, O Hans? Pray reveal your inspiration to us ...and I might tell you which number I am considering kick-starting tomorrow's concert with"

Klaus: "Oh oh, can't wait -for both of your respective replies Hans and Luther, that is."

Hans: "I am thinking, yes, wouldn't it be a hoot to go and sample English proletariat culture as practiced in this day and age ....whilst we happen to be in the kingdom of England! Wouldn't it be a simple hoot?"

Luther: "What, and omit practicing your scales in preparation for the forthcoming performance?"

Hans: "Chill out man, the concert is to take place in nineteen hours and fourty-two minutes; plenty of time in the general scheme of things and its correlations! Besides, I know them already -listen: Do Re Mi La Si Do..."

Luther: "Very impressive Hans, so you do know them -The truth is, such masterfully orderly scales are invariably eternal, and therefore ever the same. Cool, man…. They are –like- the emanation of some higher spirituality choosing to endow us –humanity- with the sweet vibe of happiness... -But wait up, what exactly do you mean by sampling Lumpen-Proletariat culture?"

Klaus: "Yeah, what do you mean exactly? Lewis Carroll and John Cleese apart from, what precise delight should we expose ourselves to?"

Hans: "Well... I was thinking... Surely, you must have heard of these "public houses"?"

Cut to a riotous pub, enter the three long-haired Germans. Pissed Cockney types laugh at them; one of them asks: "And where you think you 'are eh? A "glass of beer"? A "glass of beer"?! Why not a bloody cup of cocoa!!!"

Klaus: "We come from Germany. We are Germans."

Cockney: "Germans?" -Instant silence in the pub- "Fackin' Germans?" ... (pause) "I just lahvv the fuckin' Krauts-come 'ere my son, lemme buy you a pint, looks like you could do with a bit of a larf, you long-faced patchouli tarts!" (general laughter) "Nah, serious, I fuckin' lahv them fuckin' Boches me, I really do! Tell ya why: Hey, son" (may grab him at this stage) "did you know who bombed your father? Eh? MY OLD MAN!! He did, he did! That's right we did, back when he was in the RAF -and he fackin' bombed your town to shit!!! Where you from, son? Dresden?"

Hans: "Actually Koln."

Cockney: "Koln? Never 'eard of it! Anyway Dresden, nah you’re talking! That's the one he gat sent to!  It was all hush hush, right, secret mission an’ all, ten thousand tons of steel raining down on your arses, ten thousands of steel and he absolutely bombed you lot to shit! Fackin' Kraut house bits everywhere see? houses, schools, brothels, you name it -Nothing left standing. But cahm' on, don't just stand there, drink up your pint mates, that's your round next -And don't worry, it's all in the past now, the war’s over: all forgotten! Isn’t that so, guys" (to his mates laughing their heads off) "Being the diplomatic kind an' all, I don't need to remind you" -and someone in the background interjects (quotes) "But first let's not mention the war!"- "Ah piss off you boring cahnt, 'course I won't mention it, being a sensitive subject an' all..." (all the while smiling snidely) "nat for me to start the old "one-world-cup-and-two-world-wars eh" (general laughter) "tss tss... We know better than indulge in such silly nonsense do we, mate? Tss tss… not me no, now that's for sure, see these cahnts son: no respect; no class. -Tell you what –if you don’t mind me sayin’ so- you look like the arty type yourself, what with the poofter hair and shit –‘You artistic by any chance?"

Luther: "Actually we are musicians."

"Musicians! Well I never -Musician Krauts, who’d 'ave thought? Been singing the old "Hi Hee Hi Ho" lately ? -Only kidding, mate, only kidding. I was sayin'... -oh yeah, right: London Pride I'll have if that's OK with you, my good man... Cheers- yeah was sayin', I've got a great idea for you, 'specially since you're musicians, even better: let me - teach you - ...some praper English song. ... How 's that sound?"

Klaus: "Brilliant; this is sounding brilliant."

"Aaah that’s great, lahv'ly, always knew I could charm snakes... Right, repeat after me?  “There ain’t no black in the Union Jack (writer's note: need to get the actual lyrics!!!) We'll send the buggers back -Come on!"

And the three Germans dutifully / studiously repeat the racist song, applying themselves to please their audience who exchange winks.

Klaus: "Phew; that was highly constructive. I need to tell you that this is making me very happy."

Cockney: "Does it, really? Well it rather amused us too my son, well done!"

Hans: "Ah, but would you categorise this sing-song as a typical cultural artifact?"

Cockney: "A cultu... what? Why of course, of course it is, it's as good as any introduction to our great blady culture as I can imagine -and I'll tell you what, you won't find it in any books no you won’t!"

Klaus: "This is London. You live in London."

Cockney: "Er... 'course we do, too fackin' right we are!"

Klaus: "Do you know the Queen? Have you met her?"

Cockney: "The Queen? Do I know any queen?? Hang in just a sec’, who do you take me for!!"

Hans: "Klaus means the Queen of England. She lives in London too. In... Beckingham Palace I am not mistaken."

Cockney (almost spitting his beer): "?!!? Our Majesty the Queen?? Our gracious Majesty?... You're 'aving a larf ain't cha?" ... (waits, then:) "'Course I do! Course I 'met 'er -Good old Lizzie! She's one of the lads she is, does her shopping like the rest of us when she doesn't attend to some poncy function at the Palace. Hey Reg', Our Maj' the Queen, when did she last come down for a pint, was it... last Tuesday again? It was last Tuesday wasn't it –‘Turned up, steady as she goes, caple of bodyguards in tow, had a quick one on her way to some bloody ballet with the Russki President or whatever, said she was gagging for one –Doesn’t half like her Bitter, does she?" (bar-tender acquiesces as he -mandatorily- continues to towel-polish his pint glasses). More laughs and winks all round. "Aah bless 'er, deserves every penny! Guarantees the unity of this kingdom. Of course you Krauts can't understand, you tried to kill her -No disrespect intended, son."

Klaus: "No disrespect taken, this is quite alright. Anyway, I think we have to go now, it is getting late and we need our duty sleep."

Cockney: "Ha ha, that's right, off you go, get your duty sleep ladies!"

Klaus, as they gather their clothes and exit: "I must say, it has been very instructive meeting you gentleman"

Cockney, waving them away, under his breath, smiling: "Yeah yeah... same to you hippy... back to Belsen... Off you go now"

Klaus: "Very constructive indeed, especially hearing about your knowing the Queen. Very impressive."

Cockney: "Yeah, yeah... whatever, bugger off now"

Klaus: "…I would have never imagined the Queen frequents this sort of high swearing proletariat public house establishment." Exit leaving the locals gobsmacked, not entirely sure of what they’ve heard.

Band discussion after a jam in rehearsal.

Klaus: "That was pretty cool guys, I am thinking. In fact makes the hair at the back of my er... wherever almost upstand. See?"

Luther: "Well. This could be because you are standing too close to the generator, Klaus."

Klaus: "Oh." Moves away, hair falls down. "In any case, I was enjoying it quite magnificently. On a scale of ten, I would give it a... 6 and three quarters."

Hans: "I have to concur. Only maybe 5 and three quarters down this end as it did... miss something maybe... some extra ingredient... I cannot quite pinpoint it -otherwise I would know precisely what."

Luther, approvingly: "Quite logically Hans, quite logically." (The trio share a spliff, thinking hard.)

Klaus: "Hmm... I say... the subtle harmonies generated within might possibly benefit from an amount of external arrangement, no? Some possible complementary instrumentation…?"

Luther: "A-ha... Are we looking at some extra drum-machine patterns? I could rustle up some -like- crazy crescendo mathematical formula, if adequately required! Some totally righteous scale of counter-beats for every shift in tonal progression... Nice prospect..."

Klaus: "Possibly... or else possibly not. Although I do enjoy your suggestion, what I had more in mind would be maybe some kind of... let's be rash here:" (crouching away from Hans)  “.....guitars?"

Hans: "Guitars? Guitars?? Are you out of your brain-box? We are Tangerine Dream, we cannot have electrical guitars imbedded within our precisely intricate sound-structures! These instruments are, like, ...totally out of control! They do not partake of our feel-groovy atmospheric approach -Not possibly!!"

Kaus: "OK OK, I was only saying"

Luther: "No worries dude, Klaus was only joking, we know about your phobia -Let me concur here, our brain-music is pure and shall remain so: uncontaminated."

Hans: "Yeah, too right! Unfiltered by material debasement! Too fuckin’ right it will, is what I say"

Klaus: "OK OK Hans, it's all under control, no need to swear, we're all on board here"

Luther: "That's right, we are on course -No surrender to commercialism mercantile culture, no risk of that; don't you worry Hans"

Hans: "Guitars, guitars? What next, what fucking next man! Lyrics?! Ah... Need to retreat to my sauna to meditate, now; evacuate this sudden tension"

Klaus: "OK OK, off you go Hans, no harm done -Can I join you and your groupies later?"

Luther: "Sure you can, tell you what we could do, let's all go for a tofu salad and meditate in our sauna while having cosmic group sex, how does that sound Hans?"

Hans: "Hmm... Pretty acceptable, all parameters having been considered and weighed. Let's! It’s tool dropping time and let's go titillate the great Jungian Unconscious –I am laughing already."

They go to see "Motorhead" (i.e. Pink Floyd) in concert.

As the band play, the hovering cloud of smoke starts to descend, hiding the ceiling (special effect).

Band starts making all sorts of weird noises as, one by one, the musicians put their instrument down and start to make tea onstage -to the delight of the appreciative audience. Comments abound: "Cool this is so far-out, maaaan.... / I say -well I never! / Brilliant, simply smashing! / I am liking this, I think..."

Then the bassist starts shouting: "You killed my Dad! You all killed my Dad!"

Guitarist, intervening: "Relax, relax Rog', these guys weren't born, it's alright mate...Here, have a Kit-Kat."

The hippies look baffled by the interruption but continue to enjoy the show; some of them pass out.

The radio announces the death of Andreas Baader and Urike Meinhof in their cells. The screen splits to reveal the reaction of the three musicians.

Narrator: "…It was then that they started taking drugs"

Cut to Hans, clutching his brow in obvious pain: "Ooh my head, my head, two many half-dozen hours computing drum-machine sequencing... the aforementioned half-hours are taking their toll on my poor cerebrum."

Klaus: "Ah. Hans. But are you alright, though?"

Hans: "Evidently not, dog-sausage!"

Klaus: "Hans Hans, surely there is no need to resort to invectives! I shall tell you what, why don't you... take one of these?" Produces a box of aspirin.

Hans: "Oh Klaus, Klaus; are you... certain? These chemical artifacts surely are made out of non vegetarian Earth friendly sweet juice of Mother Nature? ..." "Ah bugger it, I'll have one and a quarter!" Does so. Looks ecstatic: "Bliss..."

Voice-over: "And so the 'Dream routine was born. But the trio had other ideas."

Klaus: "Morning good. How are you doing, Hans?"

Hans: "I am doing well, Klaus -and you?"

Klaus: "Equally positively, thank you for asking; skin up?"

Hans: "Skin up."

They ceremonially skin up and then shake hands.

Klaus: "You know, Hans, I was thinking..."

H: "Yes, Klaus?"

K: "You know, as polite pleasantries go, these rituals always follow the same course, do they not?"

H: "They certainly do, Klaus, this is why they are so reassuring." puffs "We need comfort as protection against the element of surprise."

K: "How true Hans, how very true. But I was pondering... the actual need to abide by them when we, for instance, already know their order of occurrence  and –to the point- inevitability."

H: "Hmm... What are you saying here?"

K: "You know, as sure as day follows night -except in Finland naturally- and pigs will harass free loving youth, you and I know how we will greet each other, morning in morning out"

H: "Yes...?"

K: "And so, in a spirit of better efficiency and rational expediency, I was led to wonder -only wonder, mind you- whether it wouldn't be simpler to just use codes for these -after all- time-unproductive repetitive formulas"

H: "Such as…? Do you mean in a mathematical way? I love mathematics, me!"

K: "Yes yes, in a mathematical spirit. For instance, I will offer you "Good morning Hans", and you will offer me "Good morning Klaus, how are you doing" –isn’t this the correct procedure?"

H: "It is the correct one."

K: "Now let's posit we substitute "Number One" to this phrase; and then, logically -I love logic, me!- "Number Two" for when I -or you, conversely- reply "Very well and you?"

H:"Yes yes, I am following you so far..."

K: "Well then, we could save on our breathing time and verbal effort by sticking to the pre-established corresponding codes!” (mimes) “Number one? Number two!"

H: "Why, this is an inspired suggestion Klaus! But hang on, what happens if we meet in the afternoon perchance? Therein might lay a substantial objection to your otherwise admirable logic...?"

K: "Ah, afternoon indeed... Well, what if we agreed on an amended set of codes by which "Number One" could become a noon-variable "Number One Bis"? What do you think?"

H: "This seems to me acceptable. Presumably "Skin up" would be "Number Three" then?"

K: "Quite clearly. And so shall we partake."

They smoke contentedly, facing a board of mathematical equations detailing the musical movements they’re working on (music appears as they trace maths formulas on a white board).

Narrator (with hair and clothes evolving once more): "It is a little-known fact that Tangerine Dream actually invented the Walkman. …Quite a few weeks before the wily Japanese too."

Klaus, all excited: "Guys, guys, I've just had the greatest idea, the sweetest inspiration this side of Sylvia Kristel in "Emmanuelle Seven"."

Hans: "What is it, what is it, pray tell us oh great inventor of many things."

Klaus: "Right. Imagine that I am –say- out in the town where all the squares live" (shared looks and hoots of derision) "and I want to listen to my favourite Japanese drum patterns or my fourth favourite, starting from the top, lithurgical Benedictine choir"

"Yes...? Well you can Klaus; you already can, on your diesel Volkswagen Beetle sound-system"

"A-ha, I certainly can, in the precise circumstances you have just mentioned -but imagine I feel the urge to act so... while shopping for a new pair of elastic nylon pants?!!"

"Yeah yeah, this I like doing too, shopping for these great elastic nylon flares -with added jumbo pockets! And they’re –like- totally tight at the crotch ha ha ha – so rad and completely anti-capitalistic!"

"Sure sure, but such is not the point of my present discourse!"

"Oh. ... Oh yes, the ability to listen to music. This is a certain riddle. So how do you suggest you could go about it? Tell us oh tell us, for I cannot imagine an appropriate answer..."

"A-ha, get this. I can now play my music even when stepped out of my Wolkswagen... thanks to the use of a personal music player!"

"A personal music player... what on Earth can this mean?"

"It's, like, personal i.e. for a person, and it plays music –but music only I can hear, via wearable headphones."

"Headphones..."

"Indeed. But first, I need to transfer the wanted musical content from its original tape support" -produces one of these huge cartridges- "onto tapes, like so" -produces huge reels "which I am then at liberty to play on my -are you ready for it?- hand-held magnetophone!"

"And you... carry your magnetophonic machine around?"

"Indeed, as suitably suspended from an appropriate shoulder strap suitably coloured with anti-war messages of course."

"Of course."

"Like so. And now I can move about, all the while enjoying the musical sound propagated through my headphones conveniently placed over my two ears."

"Genius!"

"But first, naturally, I need to transfer and convert the desired material onto the adequate medium." gestures towards the tape library "...This might take some time."

Luther: "But... but... Hang on, unless my ears have deceived me, isn’t what you have just suggested presently –like- totally antisocial?"

"Antisocial…? -Vishnu forbid!!"

"Antisocial. Totally. As in... where would the contact go, brother? The love for our fellow human beings? Imagine isolating yourself from the next man –why would you want to do that?"

"But... to listen to the music, clearly..."

"To listen to your music, man -not to the music, sweet sweet music, available and pleasing to all, transcending the genders, races -and sexual orientation- (someone points out diligently), floating in the air like a silk butterfly..."

Third one (Hans): "Yeah yeah... a silk butterfly..."

Luther: "And so you would choose to cover your ears with headphones and cut yourself off from the general consciousness of mankind, man? But, but, …that would amount to flick a V-sing at your fellow brother on this plaintive planet!"

"Er... Truth is, I hadn't seen it that way...."

(Smoking a joint all the while): "But you do, man, you do. Imagine for a second, close your eyes… if this invention were to catch on, who knows, then everyone would probably want one and then... then... Picture a world where nobody talks to anybody anymore, everyone lost in their internal space and their music..."

"Sweet Buddha!"

"Yeah man, yeah, picture a world populated by techno-autistic people going about their business locked in their own private musical spaces... Each one with his -or her- headphones..."

"The horror! Are we looking at the end of civilisation?" (all three have their eyes closed all the while, discussing with their hands, pointing didactic fingers and all)

"We may just possibly can! The de-humanity stage that would mean, where love for your next man has been side-stepped by personal headphones!"

"Oh my!"

"That's why I'm telling you man, this invention... -is the spawn of the devil, It Must Not Pass!"

"You're absolutely right brother, It Must Not Be -and let's forget about it instantly!"

"Let's!"

Hans: "Hang on, forget what already?"

Narrator, with new hairstyle, doing this walking about thoughtfully, hands forming a bridge gesture. “It is an ever lesser well-known fact that, technically, Tangerine Dream brought down the Wall. Not that they knew anything about it. Over to you, Horst.”

Cut to TV studio. Show-host, slumped negligently all over a weird shaped armchair, in a stylish 80s New Wave black ensemble with crew-cut, sunglasses etc. (sneering at the old hippies): "Hello, and welcome back to "Ultra-StarShooter"; this is the end of the eighties, the No Future is staring us in the face with its Ray-Bans on and I am Gaby Rado. With us tonight on "Ultra-StarShooter" is the lovely Nena -hello, Nena-, new clips of Deutsche Amerikanische Freundschaft, Einsturzende Neubauten, Trio, and some news from Stephane Eicher. Also, later to come, the brand new video installation by Nam June Paik based on the instrumental twenty minute remix of Kraftwerk's "Tour de France". But first, and due to some contractual reasons (wink at the camera), we'll switch to Berlin's Unter Den Linten Avenue where these old electro-folks of Tangerine Dream are intent on celebrating the end of this great New Wave decade (-H’a!). So, without further much ado, let's join our long-haired friends who are about to start, I understand, their encore's last "number" (sarcastic wink). See you in half an hour then!"

Cut to huge stage. The band get indeed started on a new track: they are surrounded by thousands of flickering candles, towers of equipment and a huge light-show set-up.

Luther addresses the crowd: "And so we must say goodbye to you, oh our faithful fans. It has been a great show, a greater tour, and an even greater year. We are therefore going to treat you to a very special finale. We had our heart set on celebrating this final show here in Berlin, so as to share in this very special moment with our Eastern friends situated right next to us." (gesture towards the Wall; loud cheers / greetings) Earlier today, we took part in a cross-cultural project which we called… “Go Banana”.” Points at a video screen.

Fade-in into the scene shown on the massive screen. The band and a number of their followers attach balloons to bunches of bananas (with peace messages) and, with the help of huge wind tunnels, propel them into the East Berlin sky to great applause. Cut to the other side of the wall: the soldiers shoot down the balloons and pocket the bananas for their own enjoyment. Rats feast on the ones shot down in the No Man’s Land area mud.

Back to the night-time concert. Luther: “…and we are saying to them: we are right with you, brothers! -Oh, when I say brothers, I include our sisters too." (cheers etc.) “I am feeling this could be a very privileged moment indeed for all of us, do you dig me, cool cats out there? And so go!" Starts the song: amazing light-show. "More, more!" Luther gestures to the technicians backstage. Cut to worried technicians in a control booth with lots of flashing dials: "Bloody hell, we've already exceeded the power limit allowed... Where we gonna get the juice from?" Levels climb into the red zone.

Cut to the various miradors along the Wall: East German soldiers getting worried. "Eh, what's going on with the light? This –like- totally laisser-faire exploitative capitalistic racket's bad enough -but now I'm losing contact with... Hello? Hello? HQ, can you hear me? Can you hear me, Roger, Roger, over to you Charlie Tango Papa Nicole?"  "-Hmm... Don't like the look of that, look Werner, these Wessi loving hippies going wild on the other side… -they're right against the barriers, this surely constitutes cause for concern!" -"Eh? Can't hear you mate! Helmut? Helmut? Are you receiving me?" -"Bloody 'ell, neither can I, am I thinking! Oh, the highly irritated I get, what happens if we lose radio contact eh? Allo? Allo? Anyone hear me?? I’ve lost transmission!"

Meanwhile the gig continues; then Klaus hits a high note that sets off more light effects. Cut to dials all over the place, soldiers panicking. The crowd push over a barrier, and, to their amazement, find themselves in the No Man's Land area, chasing hordes of rabbits. More music and light effects: all the mirador lights go out and the soldiers are locked inside their booths; the delighted crowd dash across the interspace and start climbing the Wall. More music in synch with the climb and the Western Berliners eventually get to the top, greeting their Eastern counterparts (as if part of the show). The three musicians can't see what's happening behind them and take the huge hurrahs as personal compliments. They exchange surprised / proud / embarrassed looks as they go on about their art theatrically. They eventually conclude their set triumphantly, move to the front of the stage to take the applause... and realise that the crowd's attention is focussed elsewhere. In fact, most people are flocking away: to where the action is taking place. Having been onstage concentrating on their music all along, they couldn't see what's going on; they now discover the situation. (Genuine footage of the historical moment of people bringing down the Wall.)

Back in the studio, a producer to another: "Fuckin' FUCK, you know what we need? I'll tell you who’s the big man for the occasion: find me Hasselhof! Money no object, fly him over, wherever he is, I want him to climb on the Wall and own it yeah! Hannelore, stop copying broadcasts of “Derrick” for your own use! The Hof, the Hof, bring on the big guns! Now!!"

Klaus, to a now empty audience: "Huh."

Hans: "Waow. Guys, guys... is this what I'm thinking it is?"

Luther, surveying the situation, regal: "…Time to skin up, brothers."

Narrator, logically looking older and in a suit, commentating from a news program set-up: "As the Tangies’ concerts grew ever more gigantic and elaborate, clearly exceeding the space offered by most soccer stadiums in the world, a new problem arose. How to accommodate the tangerine clad masses of the synthetic trio devotees.” Pushes up his glasses on his nose, then takes to chewing them thoughtfully: photos of deserts, an American public library, the London Dome, giant squares, and so on. “The answer was to come from an unlikely source. As Yazz so memorably put it: "the only way is up"." He plays three seconds (the chorus) of the song on a crap little tape player on his desk, looking pensive and magisterial. Switches it off.  "Indeed. As the century drew to a close in preparation for the next one to take its place, so did the various space stations that had been littering the skies since the CCCP-US of A aeronautical show of strength." Changes camera / position. "The year is 1986, and the Mir Soviet space station has been earmarked for the scrapyard."

Cut to news archives explaining the situation: the space station will soon be left to crash into the sea.

"And only one band -one band- can stop this waste." (film trailer kind of (manly) voice) "Tangerine Dream -for it is them- are about to come up with a typically brilliant idea."

Cut to the band inspecting the globe with their manager: "Been there, played there... Can we try an Arab country for once? I'm thinking maybe Iran, maybe Iraq -are they still at war?"

Luther, smoking a joint: "Looking at the world like so -from above as it were- it looks... so much like a playing surface, does it not?"

Manager: "Er...it sure does, Luther. For this is a map."

Luther: "It certainly is, man, ‘totally dig it but what I meant to say was, from a spacial point of view, the -how you call it- map displays an intriguing outlook and opens up a new overhead perspective."

Manager: "Ahem... quite. I daresay it does but -you know, Luther- it's only because we're seeing it from above this 2-D plan. Do you realise we can't actually, er, adopt this position for real? … This is a map."

Luther: "Yeah man, totally feel it, a map. I hear what you're saying, it's like we are... above, but not for real."

"Right."

"but the logical question is: why can't we?"

?

"Why can't we... survey this vast world from above when we're playing?"

"What... from a plane? -That's a genius idea, that!"

"No no man, not from a –like- totally square plane but from, er... above?"

"Above? How more above could you be than from a plane? Cos', Luth', if you're suggesting doing a gig from a plane, I think that's an inspired suggestion -let me just arrange it. Realistically we would need a jumbo jet (at the very least), say we would be crossing the Atlantic or something"

"No no man I mean playing... from the stars, like? “Live and Direct from the Milky Way” you know?"

?

"You're an educated man, you follow the news … Couldn't there be a way to –I’m spitballing here- hitch a ride on this space capsule that's about to get atomised?"

"The Mir station??"

"That's the one -the Mir as in "miracle". I can feel it, man, like a pretty spiritual thing to do, y’know? We would lift our equipment up there -just the basic necessities, a dozen keyboards with assorted mixing desk and incense sticks- and just... turn it on. Like, totally heavenly."

"… For once I am lost for words. Luther. You're kidding, right?"

"I ain't, man, this is what we probably always reached towards, I suppose. We've gotta jump on it while we can, this opportunity's not gonna last long from what I hear, it's a cosmic cause-and-effect chain of critical consequences, see, in the great scheme of things... Like ying and yang -you sort out the juice, we provide the elixir. Sweeeet!"

The others approve enthusiastically: "Yeah yeah let's do this thing I am thinking, I was just about to propose the very same! / Yeah, me too! I always liked getting high!"

Narrator, magisterial: "To be sure, the times, they were a-changing. And soon enough, it came to pass. (Time, that is.) Chronologically, too, as it were. Newer fads... passing trends... the crazy world of music sure knows how to wrong-foot us continually and the younger generation" (contemptuous yet envious frown) "continually follows suit." Cut to excerpts of progressive "noodle" guitar rock, punk, disco, Nouveau Romantique, techno clips.

Turning to face another camera, dramatically: "Finally had techno arrived." Cut to unlistenable parody of aciiiid / drums n bass / jungle (under any other name) featuring dancers in bandannas and "smiley" gear waving their arms about without moving their feet. Narrator looking serious: "Could it be Tangerine Dream had lost their audience?"

Young, posey, techno style punkette TV presenter interviewing the band: "So, like, the Tange in the house, what's with the pumping break-beat, huh? Wicked or what! Know what I mean, Granda? Feel the beat, yeah! It’s growin’ all the time!"

Hans, straight-faced as ever, after a moment of pipe-puffing reflection: "… Yes, miss. There has always been a dance element to our music. In fact we have always been interested in –how shall I put it- experimentation in all matters. ... Like with hermaphrodite twins on acid. "

The presenter stares, dumbfounded.

The end.

Post-credits sequence.The German TV producers are gathered round a phone, all excited. They dial up a number. Cut to the "Baywatch" shooting set. David Hasselhof receives a phone-call.

Assistant: "Mr. Hasselhof, sorry Sir, you have an important phone-call"

The Hof: "Eh? What do you mean, phone-call? We are in the middle of shooting an important scene for blipping out loud! I am needed for the rescue of a party of orphaned Playboy Bunnies in distress! -With my little boy by my side, of course."

Assistant: "Of course. I'm sorry, though, they say it's important. It's the German TV, Sir, they say it's extremely urgent, and -here I quote- they cannot wait!"

The Hof sighs, turns away off-screen: "They cannot wait eh… Tsss.... Hold it there ladies, I'll be right back." (sound of female whimpers) "Allo? David Hasselhof here. Yes, what is it?" ... "The Wall? The Wall, you mean?? ... I see. Now? ... I see. … No problem, I'll jet over -David Hasselhof to the rescue; let's make history, meine Freunde!" Turns towards the camera as if it were the "Baywatch" crew: "Sorry guys, need to go, it's a wrap!"

Copyright Loig Thivend 2006.

  

NOTES

The fact that the film is so clearly over the top and the story deliberately invented should stifle any tiresome attempt at naturally denouncing  the film for its inaccuracies. Yes, it is supposed to be anything but serious. Not only that but...wouldn't most biopics probably benefit from such treatment? My bet is, they’d be ten times more fun if drafted in this spirit! So, if some people don't get the obvious joke, well that’s too bad.One shouldn’t have to explain a joke. Besides, this is why the characters’ names are also wrong (“Luther”).

This movie would provide a great excuse to play a medley of the band's music and bring it back to the public consciousness.

Political echoes (Baader, the Reunification, the end of the USSR and so on) with a friendly nod towards TC Boyle's "Drop City"). "This film is dedicated to the man with his plastic bag who stood up to the tanks in Beijing 1989."

Note: these are fragments of a nearly complete story that popped into my head one day; should have dropped everything there and then and spent the next hour getting it down on paper, I had whole scenes / dialogues ready in my head. ...Instead, I got on with my job. Anyway, here is the blueprint to be developed. 

“The Turf Wars” 

Start: the cheerful "Ballad Of Chasey Lain" by the Bloodhound Gang. In fast motion as the credits roll by, we see the club being prepared for the night: lights are tested, ashtrays distributed, stools placed around the dancefloor and so on until the first customers arrive and the bouncers take up position -Action!

Concentric circles: the enthusiastic dancers and the occasional ones mixing with the young ones on the dancefloor, the men watching from the sidelines, the self-aggrandising DJ in his booth, more chancers (male and female) circling like sharks, the men at the bar chatting amongst themselves, the foreign staff, the bouncers keeping an eye on the proceedings.

Various types: the exhibitionist blonde dancer who turns it up when ogled but haughtily shirks contact when someone tries his luck with her; the sad cases who spend their time drinking / smoking / watching; the girl who looks good from a distance but who turns out to be thirty-something when a man ventures close; girls who chat up muscled bouncers; bouncers who show off their power and intimidate customers; a bouncer shagging a girl outside the back-door against the bin; discriminating doormen who turn down customers for various reasons ("no trainers / you can't come in / take off your hat"); mother-and-daughter combinations; "medallion men" with white shirts unbuttoned up; bad hair-dyes and surreal suntans; token dancers (employed by the club) whose function is to entice others to join in; characters who spend entire nights looking at each other without ever walking up to the object of their desire -let alone talking to them; "hen nights", complete with "L" learner plates and bridal veils; a couple of black girls who couldn't care less and have the time of their life on the dancefloor, rubbing against each other and so on, putting the other participants to shame; people who stay on for too long, hoping that the night will get better -and of course it never does.

"Plot" directions. Groups establish their territories: women on one side and men on the other; a group of indie kids claim a spot  and hassle the DJ for  "indie" rock.. After sustained pressure on their part,  he gives in and grants them a regular quarter of an hour. Some regulars end up working at the establishment, seemingly destined to spend their whole lives in their hometown and this particular establishment.

The camera could settle on a character; freeze-frame; we get to see his / her life-story (cf. "Lola Rennt"): how dreary his / her working week is, how much they are looking forward to the weekend.

Regulars occupying the same spot, week in week out. A battle between Man United and Liverpool supporters -the joke being that none of them is a native Manc or Scouser- after which football colours are banned ...and then someone points out a (typically crude) red devil tattoo on a girl’s shoulder. Pints getting spilled on various pieces of clothing (fast-forward to the next day when some of the victims smell their clothes and some don't realise ...before going to work reeking of beer). Men “accidentally” rubbing against women in congested areas. Women drinking alcoopops and men drinking beer. Poncy types splashing out on foreign beer bottles. People smoking out of boredom (“this is shit, I wanna go home” “no, wait, iss gonna get better, promised! Wait till the babes arrive, they’ll be completely smashed after closing time”).

The staff's changing-room: a copy of the Coran on a table. Scene depicting males and females grooming themselves in their respective toilets to the sound of Depeche Mode's "Somebody". A stoic African attendant hawks his goods, tries to get them to buy a splash of after-shave / buy a lolly, lends an ear to their moanings and boastings. Some customers turn away from him / her or choose to ignore him / her altogether. Some men discuss “pulling” tactics: never cruise on your own, roam with a crew; their female counterparts go on 'girls only' nights on Thursdays, couples go out on Fridays, chancers are on the hunt on Saturday nights.

More parading rituals (the hopefuls working the room, circling round the performers on show, engaging in conversations amongst themselves at the bar, and so on) to the sound of A House "I Am The Greatest". As the night draws to an end, decisive moves are made, third-choice couples team up, "left-overs" hang around or leave inconspicuously. Some dead drunk customers drag themselves out unsteadily or are woken up and chucked out either unceremoniously or sympathetically (depending whether they're regulars) by the staff. Some people are frisked on their way out as they try to smuggle their unfinished pint out. Tempers fray when cloak-room attendants can't locate someone's jacket.

The film ends with shots of stragglers ebbing away in the cold, deserted, blue lit streets

The music could be loud, with the characters subtitled. Comical effect: the music stops as one of them pronounces something that then sounds rude. This is a place whose idea of distinction is Robbie Williams.

Style: several can be considered. This project invites for a wealth of features, details, genuine anecdotes; its presentation is more problematic, though: it could be adapted into a play, a musical, a TV series, or an interactive DVD-based film.

Tone: could be fairly dispassionate, reminiscent of Wiseman's documentaries (cf. also the jaw-dropping Hughes Bros' "American Pimp"), but still fairly sympathetic to the perennially hopeful clubbers on their desperate missions. It could work as several instalments part of a TV series, or as a DVD-"directable" project (the viewer clicks on a character and gets to see their background cf. "Lola Rennt"), or even as a musical paying tribute to past pop classics (such as Erasure's singles). It could recall the brief public acceptance of the "Acid" musical genre, complete with smilies and bandannas.

Box within a box alert: alternatively, it could be presented as a "reality TV” program setting out to decipher club culture, with hidden cameras and pie charts analysing the behaviour of the subjects under scrutiny ("this is the predators area, observe the overwhelming ratio of males composing it; interestingly enough, it will hardly ever encroach upon the willing victims zone", "this is what we call the borderline participants zone, where potential dancers hover; it fluctuates wildly according to the musical accompaniment" opine the kind of boffin “body language” psychologists that early "Big Brother" shows used to employ).

There could be a chart of "this week's losers and winners: who gets to cope off with whom, who gets stranded on the scrapyard; in pole position is...", and so on. Sports statistics could be used, in mock games analysis mode.

Fiction and reality: the best stories / works of art are -arguably- the ones extensively based on genuine events. This project should have a documentary quality. In fact, it could be conceived as a documentary, shot over a month or two. It could also be a send-up of “reality TV” (along the model of “Best In Show / Spinal Tap”?).The topic genuinely offers a multitude of opportunities, with a cornucopia of scenes / situations waiting to be shot. With the exception of “The Last Days Of Disco” or “Saturday Night Fever”, not many movies have taken advantage of this singular environment.

Music. "The Secret Life Of Arabia"-David Bowie (retro sequence). Choreographed collective dance routines such as "Saturday Night" Whigfield or "Family Affair" Mary J. Blige. "I'm gonna get you" Shania Twain; "Ebenezer Goode" The Shamen; "Because We Want To" Billie (with 30-somethings shaking a leg to it); the "Rock DJ" song by Robbie Williams ((shudder)); "The Only Way Is Up" Yazz; the indie kids manage to get Consolidated "The Sexual Politics Of Meat" played; the hilariously misunderstood "You're Gorgeous" by Baby Bird that everyone sings along to, oblivious to its theme. Closing song, as frozen revellers take to the deserted streets, "I Was A Teenage Spaceship" Smog (a few lines of which are quoted at various points: "our sentences will not be served" "if someone offers you sugar, you should eat it"). The last image may feature seaguls diving onto abandoned bags of fish and chips. Another title reappearing as a line: "only losers take the bus".

Setting: musn't be a glamorous place. It should reflect the working class tediousness (bordering on desperation) of the town it is set in. Vaguely inspired by Dundee's Déjà Vu and Reading's After Dark / Washington Heights. Possible references: “Tous en boìte” series with F. Lucchini, "Phoenix Nights".

Title: could refer to popular culture or "West Side Story", an ealier idea for a project in which various groups (indie kids / pop fans / ladettes / laaads / gays / other cliques) would compete for spots in the club and then defend their territory. "Ten To Three"? “The Sat’day Nite Game Of Death”.

Abstract: chronicles the fortunes of clubbers in a dismal provincial night-club / last chance saloon.

An education into chat-up mores. Not much need for a proper start; more of a reportage over several weeks (or even over a few years, as part of another project that would chronicle successive music fads ...a bit like Scola's “le bal”).

“The Sat'day Night Game Of Death” (Another one that came to me in a dream.)

Plot: imagine a popular TV gameshow in which everyone HAS to find themselves a partner for the night, under penalty of severe punishment. In a given place to be decided on the day -it could be a nightclub, a pub, or even an office building- everyone inside has to "cop off" with someone else before the end of the show (either by the end of the night or -better- in the 90 minutes of the film itself).

This competition / race against time is refereed on the day by the most caricatural / vain / airheaded couple be found on the premises (as selected in advance by the show's researchers and through secret applications). Being elevated to this glorified rank for their knowledge of the contestants, the two appointed judges are guaranteed not to be fooled by cheats (otherwise, it would be too easy to pretend). The new couples therefore have to "gel", the reality of which may be subjected to a quiz …or they could be made to demonstrate their “affection” on camera! The couple chosen to act as referees is naturally spared judgement (i.e. sanctions) and is afforded its 90 minutes of “fame”. People therefore trample each other to get chosen.

The contestants who can't possibly “pull” meet their fate in the end –everything being shown "live" of course. Maybe they get genitally mutilated or meet somesuch horrible fate (disfigured?).

End of the game, end of the film so that no critical distance can be afforded to this film's audience ...as in "the Truman Show" whose authors covered their arses by pretending that those who would be glued to the fictional TV show could never be the same as the ones who watch the film. No such “book-ending” offered here (but then, possibility of offering another level of presentation via regular show-hosts: see below).

Comments. Shot in a loud, vulgar TV game-show style a la "Blind Date", complete with advertising breaks (cosmetics, "Friends" on DVD, breasts augmentation surgery, home suntan saloon, designer stubble razors, teeth whitening, this sort of thing). Now this may introduce a distancing dimension that would run counter to the “raw footage” angle gone for, but a couple of jovial TV channel announcers laughing their heads off at the poor souls portrayed could be added to the equation. Naturally complete with atomic suntan, radioactive teeth, rock-hard brushing hairstyles and so on. Stanley Tucci is great, he could do a devastating job here. Copyright Loig Thivend 2002.

PS: with the advent of the social media ever since, a whole new dimension of self-reflective ironic “meta” representation could easily be added to the original story (that was penned around 2002), allowing for TV and website audiences to add their petty illiterate vicious comments and vote to eliminate,“Big Brother” style, unsatisfactory contestants.  

"The Underwater Life Of Elephants"

Film starts with a party going on, shot in raw Dogme style. Smoking, drinking, dancing, flirting, gossiping and so on for about ten minutes. A female character falls out with her boyfriend, drinks some more. She pops a pill. The aggressive dance music is turned up. Then the protagonist doesn't feel too well, and tries to climb the stairs up to the bathroom -to some people's amusements.

Then the screen turns to black. Silence. Bluish shapes emerge gradually. So does sound (as if underwater). Half-formed shapes flicker in slow motion, as if in a lava lamp. Trippy ambient music a la Young Gods / Brian Eno. At times repetitive as if stuck in a groove (to convey the character’s nightmarish experience). Memories of a face. Silhouettes. Light signals. And so on, for forty minutes of trippy audio-visual experience. The film could finish with paramedics reviving the character. Possible influences : "Girlfriend In A Coma" , "2001", "Blue", Young Gods "Summer Eyes". Copyright Loig Thivend 2003