Anyone who dreams of gaudy 90 minutes of crime on Sunday in the first was entertained the night before: greasy guys, creepy setting, flashbacks to fear, heroines between psychosis and power. "Love Rage" was a "crime scene" for eternity.
Who remembers the janitor at their elementary school? The guy at my school (his name will not be mentioned here, of course) was a medium-sized guy, chronically nasty and on the lookout, mustache, beret, gray overalls, and endowed with some kind of x-ray vision for any kind of shit building. Whoever got caught - and in fact, literally everyone got caught - got a gang that had washed up. During this lecture, said caretaker grabbed a small piece of the sideburns, if you could call that region of hair that for a nine-year-old or so, and pulled them up so high that the poor wretch, whimpering and farting softly with fear, pointed his toes straight still touched the ground.
Looking at the caretaker from the "crime scene" on Sunday evening, one would almost wish one like the beret drill sergeant back. Joachim Conradi (Dirk Martens) is made of different wood. The man sniffs the children's forgotten clothes and indulges in compulsive masturbation. His greatest wish: to finally be praised. "Well waxed", one would like to scribble him immediately in the certificate of good conduct. And the guy is just one of many in this chamber of horrors populated by weird batches that the Bremen "Tatort" splattered into the Sunday living room with the title "Love Rage".
There's Mother Kramer, in a tutu, red as the blood on her skull, in a secret room staring at the ceiling with broken eyes. There is father Kramer (Matthias Matschke), a deranged cretin, and his new partner (Milena Kaltenbach), a K-pop nymph with twins under her heart. There are the grandparents (Ulrike Krumbiegel and Thomas Schendel), who spell the word welfare a little differently than grandma and grandpa from next door and of course the greasy Schaballa (Aljoscha Stadelmann), a nasty fine ripper with a preference for ice cream, voluminous belly and mom in a wheelchair - all on the way in a panopticon that has it all.
The third case of the still relatively new duo Liv Moormann (Jasna Fritzi Bauer) and Linda Selb (Luise Wolfram) turns out to be a high-speed chamber of horrors after just a few minutes, a horror trip, somewhere between "The Silence of the Lambs", "Psycho" and "Mother's Day" is full of sinister characters, quirky details and fantastic twists, as if David Lynch and Heinz Strunk had put their heads together. Rarely has a "crime scene" wallowed in blood with such bliss, turned around in red light and accompanied by a brilliant score, chased its staff through such a ghost train and circumvented conventions as if Lürsen and Stedefreund had never existed.
"Unlike my previous films, I don't care about the claim to reality in this one," says director Anne Zohra Berrached. "As in American cinema, it's important to me to tell a good and exciting genre film that lets the characters shine." One can only hope that Berrached will snap up the next "crime scene" in Bremen and that screenwriter Martina Mouchot will not run out of scary stories. An eerily beautiful pleasure of the special class!
