— After linking to a list of East-German football logos, I went to find the crest of the club I played for in the late 1980s as an eight year old. Of course I found it; thank you, internet.
Many East-German football logos have a similar visual language. Vibrant, contrasting colours, hand-lettering, minimalist designs. The predominant visual style of the 1950s and 1960s.
A theory why this style is so common: After the end of World War II and the founding of the GDR, all existing sports clubs were dissolved and re-established. Teams were assigned to a state-owned industrial factory or workshop to bring them under the control of the new socialist regime and to rid them of fascist thinking. And so these new clubs needed new logos. Since the clubs were established around the same time, the new crests were too, in the 1950s and 1960s. Today they represent the zeitgeist of a specific time.
And just like these beautiful crests appeared at the same time, they all disappeared in the early nineties after Germany’s reunification, when the club’s names and associations changed again to rid them of any communist influence.
— All of my visits to Heidelberg are the same. I arrive, see friends, hang around their houses, we go for dinner, have drinks. Wake up a little hung over. Repeat until I make my way to catch train to go somewhere else.
I lived in Heidelberg for three years until I left for London ten years ago. This was my first visit since where I actually spent time in Heidelberg, walking around, visiting familiar places, taking in the place.
The university campus where I used to work has, in its centre, a group of connected, concrete office blocks that were build in the 1960s. They look like the perfect set for Netflix production about soviet scientists from the 1980s. Great for taking photos but an eyesore for many and one local pointed out.
The architect’s brief must have been to build a dystopian answer to Heidelberg’s picturesque old town; sandwiched between the river and green, steep hills, the castle throning over the town as a constant reminder not to mess with the French.
Visiting Heidelberg evokes similar contradicting feelings. I liked living here, I made good friends, many of which I still speak to regularly. But I never arrived, I never considered it my home.
— After their father’s death, two estranged brothers reconnect whilst getting drunk in their childhood home. In between old memorabilia, they come across a plan they forged as teenagers: To travel across the country on their mopeds from the Black Forest in the south to the Baltic Sea in the north. Still intoxicated, they put the plan into action.
For many Germans growing up in the province, their moped is the segway to teenage independence. And so is planning a ridiculously long trip on a two-wheel vehicle that can’t go faster than 25 kilometres per hour. 25km/h depicts this and other nuggets of German life beautifully. Scores of beautiful nature, a wine fest, eating Sauerbraten, a feast at a Greek restaurant that every 17-year-old dreams of before they venture out and taste actually good food, and the petty-minded world of permanent camping—it’s all so German, it’s no surprise why so many Germans have ambivalent feelings about the country. And yet, it’s all lovingly staged in 25km/h that it left me thinking whether I should book a flight home to spend the summer there.
(2018) Director: Markus Goller. Screenplay: Oliver Ziegenbalg. Cast: Lars Eidinger, Bjarne Mädel, Franka Potente, Sandra Hüller, Wotan Wilke Möhring.
