Toi et moi aussi

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet is the sun, blowing one mean saxophone while Romeo heroically strums a cheap electric guitar. The course of true love is anything but sure for these two scruffy Berlin street musicians, whose once dramatic romance has soured to a point where they're no longer making beautiful music together. But during their final gig at a highbrow wedding reception they stumble into a political murder conspiracy, and in the ensuing chase rekindle the (admittedly dim) spark between them while dodging bullets and bad guys. This semi-improvised, strictly amateur comedy/caper was produced on a less-than-negligible shoestring budget, but the lack of any professional polish is matched by an equal (and refreshing) lack of reverence for its role models. The deadpan mockery targets everything from the conventions of Film Noir (note the villain's horribly dubbed hard-boiled Yankee euphemisms) to the characters of none other than Bill Shakespeare himself.

Even for a Cinematheque showing, there was a scant audience, but this is a quite pleasant hipster comedy. It needs more notice. Declarations of love are what what the two living-together musicians are trying to elicit from one another, an ongoing struggle especially when it starts with the guy's misogyny, walking out, and an attempt at infidelity. They still have to work together, and the story spins them to complicity. The settings in Berlin are seedy, but less sordid than in Taxi zum Klo of 1980, the action less bang and crash than in Helsinki-Naples of 1987, anti-bourgeois, but nicer than Fassbinder. Inventive, sometimes elaborate scenes, elegant camera work by C. F. Koschnick, in other words, a quite skilled job. And who would not wish these young people good luck?