If the whole purpose of making and distributing this documentary was so that we could get to know East Berliner Robert Paris ... well, firstly, WHY was that the whole point? Why him? and secondly, why all the other stuff: the introduction in which we watch a river being dredged and listen to a soundtrack consisting of someone trying and failing to get a tune out of a tuba, for what feels like a quarter of an hour; the builder who complains how all the jobs are going to Poles; the humdrum pans over concrete-block architecture?
This is the kind of documentary you get when you point the camera at nothing in particular and intersperse the footage with shots of your friends having conversations about this and that, conversations which we'd no doubt find interesting if we were ourselves taking part in them, but we're not. Without being bad in any positive way (apart from the awful tuba noises), Reidemeister's film makes you count down the seconds and then breathe a deep sigh of relief when it's over.
This is the kind of documentary you get when you point the camera at nothing in particular and intersperse the footage with shots of your friends having conversations about this and that, conversations which we'd no doubt find interesting if we were ourselves taking part in them, but we're not. Without being bad in any positive way (apart from the awful tuba noises), Reidemeister's film makes you count down the seconds and then breathe a deep sigh of relief when it's over.