분야
hwp First...
...cast the beam out
of thine own eye...
...and then the mote from mine.
- Jesus takes off his shirt...
- And lets others speak.
...he kneels before the first one...
...washing his dusty feet
with his shirt.
I am not the Jesus of
the official Church...
...who the police, bankers...
...judges, hangmen, officers,
church bosses, politicians...
...and other powerful
people tolerate.
I am not your Superstar.
Shut the fuck up!
Come up here, bigmouth.
Im not a great speaker...
...but maybe some of you seek
Christ. But I dont think this is Him.
Because Christ was tolerant...
...and if someone contradicted Him,
He would not tell them to shut up.
No, He didnt say shut up.
He took a whip...
...and smacked their ugly faces!
Thats what He did...
...you stupid pig!
And if only one of you wants...
...to hear me...
...he has to wait...
...until this fucking scum has left.
If I may quote:
"Thou shalt recognize them by
their works." Thats what counts.
Munich, Elisabeth Street
How do you do, Mr. Herzog?
Herr von der Recke, I hope you
are prepared for this invasion.
Yes, we are.
You do know, that this apartment
has a very special meaning for me.
As a thirteen-year-old
schoolboy, I used to live here...
...with my mother and
my two brothers.
This was a small, rather shabby
boarding house...
...now restored of course.
- That was in the Fifties?
I was just thirteen.
The odd thing was that I lived here
with Klaus Kinski for months.
Oh, really?
It was a chain of coincidences.
The owner of the boarding house,
Klara Rieth, an elderly lady of ...
...with wildly dyed orange hair, had
a soft spot for starving artists...
...as she herself had come
from a family of artists.
Kinski had been living nearby
in an attic, without furniture...
...just bare beams, and everything
covered knee-high with dead leaves.
He posed as a starving artist and
walked around stark-naked.
Stark-naked?
Yes, when the postman rang...
...Kinski rustled through his leaves,
stark-naked, and signed.
Where was that?
Somewhere nearby.
But he wore clothes
when he lived here, I hope?
Yes, but from the very first
moment, he terrorized everyone.
There were parties living here.
He locked himself into the bathroom...
The bath over there...
- Wasnt there a door there?
- Yes, it led to the bathroom.
- May we?
- Yes, go ahead.
This room, to the left, was bigger.
Yes, we enlarged the bathroom.
Thats where we used to live,
my mother and the three boys.
The four of us in just
one single room.
There were bunks. We were rather
poor, and my mother tried somehow...
...to take part in the economic
miracle but got left behind.
This bath was smaller because
our room reached up to here.
Kinski had locked himself in this
bathroom for days and nights.
For forty-eight hours.
in his maniacal fury, he smashed
everything to smithereens.
The bathtub, the toilet bowl -
everything.
You could sift it through a tennis
racket. It was really incredible.
I never thought it possible that
someone could rave for hours.
They called the police in the end,
but they left him in peace.
He was put up there,
in a tiny staff room.
- May I?
- Please, go ahead.
It was completely different, then,
there was a long corridor...
...and here there were one,
two, three small rooms.
Yes.
And here must have been
a wall and an entrance.
The corridor went along here.
And this here was Kinskis room.
There was only room for
a bed and a small night table.
And that was his window
looking onto the backyard.
One day, Kinski took a huge
running start down the corridor...
...while we were eating. I heard
a strange noise and then...
...in an exlosion the door came off
its hinges crashing into the room.
He must have jumped against it at
full speed, and now he stood there...
...flailing wildly, completely
hysterical, snow-white in the face.
He was foaming at the mouth,
and he moved like this...
Something came floating down
like leaves -they were his shirts...
...his screams were incredibly shrill.
He could actually break
wine glasses with his voice.
And three octaves too high he
screamed, Klara! You pig!
The thing was, she hadnt ironed
his shirt collars neatly enough.
Klara had him living here for free,
fed him and did his laundry.
One day a theater critic had
been invited for dinner.
He hinted that having watched a
play in which Kinski had a small roll...
...he would mention him as
outstanding and extraordinary.
At once, Kinski threw hot potatoes
and the cutlery into his face.
He jumped up and screamed:
"I was not excellent!
I was not extraordinary!
I was monumental!
I was epochal!"
All this made a very deep
impression on me then...
...and that I would work with him
later and make five feature films...
You would never
have thought that.
No, that was never on
my horizon at the time.
It was beyond my
furthest thoughts.
Did he ever have any training as
