Tatort: How A TV Show Connected Me To My Country

One of the pillars of being German is watching Tatort on Sunday nights. With over 1000 episodes over the last, I think, 40 years, Tatort isn't just a show, it's an institution. "What are you up to tonight?", for example, is a question nobody dared asking in the mid-2000s on a Sunday, when half the population would watch the the various detectives, one more German than the other, solve crimes. Except me. I never did. When Tatort reached peak popularity, I was a teenager in the States. So I knew that everyone at home watched Tatort, but I wasn't home. I never watched much TV so this whole craze passed me by - until a few weeks ago when I watched my first Tatort.

I had been home in Germany, hanging out with my friend on Sunday night. Her mother was over with her knitting tools and Tatort was about to start. She expressed she was only staying, if we watched it with her. I thought I could stay for a while, then leave. I didn't think I'd enjoy 90 minutes of a TV show; I never watch stuff that long. But I didn't leave. I needed to know how Inspector Borowski made the murderer confess. It had happened: I loved Tatort like every good German would. And while I tried to explain what I liked about it so much, I actually realized that it might be exactly that: Tatort is a German gem, a cultural phenomenon and in its presentation as German as it gets. Finally a show I can identify with.

In the last few weeks, while starting my last job, I have come to see more than ever before how much I like Germans. The German leg of my new job is by far the best. When I watch videos on YouTube, which is my job, the German ones are way better, smarter and funnier to me than the others. My German colleagues are definitely the funniest. And speaking in German, about Germany, about history, about everything we have in common just because we are all from there, has been so nice for me after all this time "away from home". We can laugh about wanting a process, we find Lothar Matthäus funny and we remember Alex K. - Superstar. I am the last person that seeks any sort of exclusivity, but I find it hard to believe that for onlookers who are not German, we would make any sense.

I can't explain why I have to genuinely laugh out loud when I watch German late night shows, but when I watch the likes of Jonathan Ross, Alan Carr or whatever their names are, the best I can do is crack a smile. Obviously, internationally Germans are not known to be very funny, but I find them way funnier than any of the British. And maybe it is the same as loving Tatort: just understanding. I understand why the German detectives act the way they do. They barley smile which isn't crazy because, of course, they're German, they eat their Butterbrot in the morning and drink their Feierabendbier after work. They crack jokes about all kinds of people, being mean is funny. They are like me. 

On a recent trip with my German team in the Bavarian Alps, the playlist was entirely German. I usually didn't enjoy a playlist like that because I would worry about those in the room not "German enough" to be able to appreciate Schlager. But that night, everyone knew the lyrics to Atemlos, those who had grown up in Germany could also sing Pur Hitmix from front to back. No German ever WANTED to learn this song by heart, but it just happens. And in that, I made a discovery that took me a few years to make: whether I want it or not, where you're from will never change. I can never not be German even if I burn my passport. I will never run late, I will never stop loving a clearly defined plan, a measurable process, a color code in documents and Tatort. The lyrics to Verdammt ich lieb' Dich can never be unlearned. Even after a decade away from the Fatherland.

Beyond The Glitz: Why The Oscars Are So Fascinating

In March 2002, I was on a ski trip with my extended family. It’s funny how you remember certain things from childhood, and not others. One of the memories from that trip is taking a hot shower after a full day of skiing, and how blissful it felt to have those cold feet thaw, the muscles relaxing and a cup of hot chocolate waiting in the living room after. One of the most vivid memories, however, was from that Sunday. It was Oscar Sunday, Whoopi Goldberg was hosting, and as I was a big fan of films and there was no school on Monday, I decided to stay up and watch the whole thing. There was something about the Academy Awards that I found very appealing. I didn’t know what that was then, but this year, I believe I realized what it was.

Sina, age 13, did not really speak English. I watched Whoopi Goldberg crack jokes on something; as in, I knew what the joke was about, but not what the joke was. She said the word “actually” a lot which I didn’t understand and couldn’t look up because I wouldn’t know how to spell it (“achshully”? “ackshelly?”). Then, I watched a few people win awards and thanking people, none of whom I’d ever heard of before (everyone seemed to be thanking a man called Weinstein but who was he?). It is a wonderful memory because I remember not knowing. We don’t really remember when life started to make sense or a certain skill was actually learned, but what I remember from that night alone in the living room in Zermatt is not knowing Hollywood, not knowing English - and not knowing achievement.

On Sunday, as I watched the Oscars Red Carpet for the first time in years, I realized how I was no longer seeing fame and pretty dresses, but people who came to be adored. Sure, they dress up and they pretend, and the whole Spiel is foreign and ridiculous to me just like to any other person. But in the moment they win, it is NOT about the dress, it is NOT about who they know. These things are important to the attendees but mostly, because most of them will lose that night. The winners, however, get one moment, 45 seconds, that they will remember for the rest of their life. Not because of their dress or because of who was in the room; because it is likely the biggest acknowledgment of their craft they will ever get. It is that knowledge that makes me have goosebumps every time I watch someone go up that stage.

Me at the Kodak Theater in 2009

It was none other but Lady Gaga who made me see that the reason I enjoy watching these people win an accolade is being a witness of an individual being recognized, seen, acknowledged. “It’s not about winning”, she said in her acceptance speech, but about "not giving up". It’s such a good feeling getting an A for a test you studied hard for, right?  Now, imagine working on a dream for your entire life, putting everything you have in it, and being told “Get to F***” more often than not. You’re used to feeling like a failure because everyone thinks you are. It is a dream, acting. Or making movies. Or being creative in any way, shape of form. People think that’s a waste of time. And then suddenly, for some reason, you find yourself on a stage, the whole world watching, because the best in your craft believe that your persistence was worth THEIR time.

In my life, there was also much of that. I've tried exceptionally hard my entire life and when something good happens, I do usually feel like I deserve it (as much as anyone deserves anything which I generally think is a ridiculous concept). For most of my childhood I dreamed about winning an Oscar myself because it was the only time I had seen acknowledgement to this extent. Today, I know acknowledgement is what I'm after, not the Oscar. I want to be recognized by my peers as being the best in my trade. For that, of course, I will have to become the best first. But when the day comes, and not if, I will remember those who got me there. And if I have any say in the how it will happen, I will most likely wear Chanel.