Film – Numéro Berlin

IN CONVERSATION WITH IRVINE WELSCH

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 28 Aug 2026 12:46:17 +0000

No doubt Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting has had an afterlife that has crossed generations. From cult novel to film franchise to West End musical, “a stupid thing to do,” according to Welsh himself.

Ahead of his upcoming 2026 novel, Can Nothing Save Us?, I spoke to Welsh about bringing Trainspotting to the stage, the ways technology has transformed addiction and alienation, the shrinking of physical spaces for culture, community, and expression, and why he thinks culture may be heading back offline. We also talked about what today’s generation sees in Trainspotting, and what Welsh, now looking at the world from a very different place, sees in them.

I. The Logistics of “A Stupid Thing to Do”

Burcu Beaufort: I know it’s the classic origin story question, but I’d love to hear how this musical project first came about. When did the idea start taking shape for you?

Irvine Welsh: My music partner, Steve McGuinness, and I just started writing songs and I found that I was writing in the characters of Trainspotting. We just wrote some ballads, and then we took it to the producer who’s been on it for a while to do a musical. So it just came out of that.

Burcu Beaufort: And why a musical?

Irvine Welsh: Because it’s a silly thing to do, really. It’s just absolutely a stupid thing to do in this environment. It costs loads to put on, theatres are closing down all over the place, shows are shutting down, so it seemed to be the ideal time to do it, basically.

Burcu Beaufort: So you guys went for it just because it doesn’t make sense?

Irvine Welsh: Yeah, basically, I think that’s the main reason to do anything. It’s kind of fun that mushroomed into a serious project.

Burcu Beaufort: Why is it silly to make a musical right now?

Irvine Welsh: Financially, it’s silly. We’re in the West End of London now till September. We had planned a big tour, and people just don’t have the money to pay for theater tickets now in the UK, so we can’t go ahead with it. We have over 30 people in the ensemble, cast, and crew, and by the time you factor in transit and accommodation, the cash just isn’t there. We don’t want to compromise the show by merging parts or cutting staff, because then you are giving people outside London an inferior product. If you can’t do it properly, you’re best not doing it, basically.

II. Simulacra, Capitalism, and the Death of Exhibited Culture

Burcu Beaufort: Trainspotting has transformed from a gritty cult novel into a film franchise and now a main-stage musical. To borrow Jean Baudrillard’s term, do you think it’s become a simulacrum, a simulation of a counterculture?

Irvine Welsh: When you write a book, it’s an act of giving something away. Any book that I write belongs to the world. Once I’ve written it, it’s not mine anymore, and the world can do what they want with it, basically. I don’t want to be a curator of it. I’m interested in the stories and the characters, so I’ll keep going back to them, but I don’t want to say it’s got to live in a glass case in a museum somewhere. It’s got to be out there in the world and used.

Unfortunately, the culture we live in, the way distribution, exchange, and exhibition work, is a capitalist culture. It’s only going to be exhibited if people think they can make money from it. Once it becomes successful to a certain level, it’s no longer yours. It’s published by a publisher living in a capitalist world; it’s made into a film by a film production company and a distributor for cinemas that are in that world to make money; and the same with stage theatres and stuff like that. That’s the world that you’re in, and there is no other way, literally, to do that. The internet was supposed to be the way that we do all this and connect with each other, but the internet’s been enclosed by the big tech corporations now, so we don’t really have that space anymore. It becomes another place where they do things to us rather than for us.

So there is no real life for any culture outside of capitalism, and that’s why our culture is dying. If you look at the things you’re seeing in cinemas and theatres, it’s the same stuff all over. What the reaction against that has to be is to bring culture back offline. It has to be people doing things in their communities: putting on shows, poetry readings, DJing, making music together, and playing that at raves and parties in their own spaces. It has to be away from all these traditional centres of exhibition. Mainstream culture (or rather, exhibited culture) is dying. We’re actually going to be finding our way back into this again in a very DIY, punk rock, acid house type way.

Burcu Beaufort: It almost feels like a dystopian sci-fi novel, a regressed world where people escape hyper-advanced technology to gather in offline, analogue spaces.

Irvine Welsh: Yeah, it was a bit cheeky of us to jump into the West End, into the Theatre Royal and all that, but you want to bring these things to a local space. You basically want to have people performing in a public park: build a stage in a public park and have people putting on shows there, like in Shakespeare’s era, basically. It’s going to go back to that because these old-school citadels of exhibition… I can’t really see who’s going to pay for them, because nobody’s got any money. The only people that have got money are billionaires, and there’s not enough of them to fill a theater. Culture can never be top-down; it always has to be bottom-up.

III. What Renton (and a 30-Year-Old Irvine Welsh) Would Think

Burcu Beaufort: If Renton were around today, would he ever buy a ticket to the musical? What would he make of it?

Irvine Welsh: None of these guys would buy tickets and watch. They would just say that this is some kind of horrible old guy cashing in on our misery, and that they hate it, basically.

Burcu Beaufort: And how would your 30-year-old self react? Would you buy tickets and go in?

Irvine Welsh: Yeah, I was a child novelist, but I’m just beginning to mature slowly. I probably wouldn’t have had the money or the interest, and theater wouldn’t have been on my radar then. You go through phases where you’re engrossed in one kind of art form, and when I started to write Trainspotting at 30, I was obsessed with literature and books. I wouldn’t have been interested in theater shows too much.

IV. Decontextualized Youth, Gangs, and Listening to the Next Generation

Burcu Beaufort: What is the audience of the musical like? Is it mostly young people, or an all-ages crowd?

Irvine Welsh: It’s very much a mix. They’ve been very enthusiastic, and they get up there and start clapping and singing along with the cast, so it’s quite an uplifting experience. For me, I feel like I have to sneak out the stage door after a performance because people come up to me and get quite emotional about it. A bit like the reaction to the T2 Trainspotting film, people felt like, “We suddenly got older, how did that happen? This is what we used to be.” They feel quite teary about it, so the musical’s a bit like that for older people.

For younger people, because the internet decontextualizes everything, a lot of them feel that this is a book about drugs, youth, and going out (this is their book and their film). They don’t think of it as an 80s or 90s thing; they think of it as a now thing. When I do talks at a college town, for example, it’ll be all young people there, and when I come out, they expect me to be the same age as they are. They see this older guy coming out and go, “What is that? Irvine Welsh?” I say, “This is as good as it gets if you’re very, very lucky.”

So it’s strange the way the internet decontextualizes everything. For young people, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon isn’t an album made in 1973; it’s something you listen to after coming back from a rave. I think it’s the same with Trainspotting: it’s one of these books that people just pick up when they get to about 17, thinking, “I’m going to college, I should read Trainspotting,” like I used to do with On the Road or Naked Lunch. You get to a time in your life and think, “I have to read this book,” which is great for me.

Burcu Beaufort: Do you think today’s drug scene still has its own subculture, or has that been lost entirely?

Irvine Welsh: It’s an internet culture, a top-down, universal sort of culture. The drug culture is a gangster-ish culture; it’s about districts, turfs, and enforcement. People know the way the system works, but they feel that they can’t really do anything politically to change it, so there’s a powerlessness.

The bad side of that is that youth need compelling drama, and work used to provide that, but it doesn’t anymore. So the compelling drama is on the streets. A lot of clued-up kids in these gangs know that they’re going to have a very limited shelf life, but they want to try and build some kind of little empire and get out while they can. There’s a feeling of, “We’re already doomed, so we’ve got nothing to lose,” and that’s pretty bleak. It wasn’t like that back in the 80s. People still had gangs and there was still violence, but there weren’t guns, there wasn’t that desperation, and there were avenues out of it. You expected you’d just grow out of it, whereas now, people don’t see the opportunity to get married, get a job, a career, or a house. All that’s been taken away from them, so they’re stuck in this place. It’s really sad and bleak.

Burcu Beaufort: So it’s less about belonging to a subculture?

Irvine Welsh: It’s about opportunity. Nobody wants to get shot at or kneecapped. If you’ve got the opportunity to do a bit of traveling, get an education, get a decent job, meet somebody nice, and build a life together, you’re going to do that. But there’s no opportunity to move into this other space now.

Burcu Beaufort: What would you say to young people who are probably going to grab the book after seeing or hearing about the musical?

Irvine Welsh: I don’t think I would say anything to them; I would be asking them questions. I would want to find out from them what they think of the world and what they’re up to. There are too many people my age who have too much to say for themselves, and there’s no platform or forum where young people can express themselves anymore, apart from becoming a character on the internet (which is just like an alcoholic voice, the voice of the drug, the embittered, alienated loser voice taking them over). They don’t have a forum where they can articulate how they feel about the world in any way that isn’t cliched or algorithmically dictated. So I’d be more inclined to just sit down, chat, and listen to what they’re saying.

TO WATCH “HIDDENSEE“ BY ANNEKATRIN HENDEL

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 26 Aug 2026 07:58:52 +0000

There is something almost contradictory about Hiddensee. They say Hiddensee is the kind of place that stays with you: once you have been, you either find yourself returning year after year, or you never set foot on the island again. To some, the island feels like an escape from the rest of the world, yet it has always been shaped by everything happening beyond its shores. Artists came for its freedom, outsiders came looking for a different way of living, and generations of visitors turned the small Baltic island into a place onto which they could project their own idea of paradise.

Annekatrin Hendel’s Hiddensee takes this idea and slowly pulls it apart. The film moves freely between decades and generations, weaving together different stories and perspectives. What initially feels like a journey into the island’s past gradually becomes something much more contemporary. Old conflicts echo in the present, and the seemingly distant political tensions of previous generations begin to feel unsettlingly familiar. Hiddensee becomes less a backdrop than a lens through which to observe a changing Germany.

Hendel’s black-and-white imagery gives the documentary a timeless quality. Beaches, houses, faces and the sea become almost dreamlike, while the stories being told are often anything but.

And perhaps that is what makes the film linger. Hiddensee does not simply ask why so many people have been drawn to this island. The film celebrates the island as a place of freedom and artistic expression while simultaneously questioning how long such a refuge can remain untouched by the forces shaping the world beyond its shores.

At 119 minutes, the documentary takes its time, but that patience suits the subject. This is less a conventional historical documentary than an atmospheric journey through memory, politics and the people who have tried to make Hiddensee their own. Beautiful, reflective and quietly unsettling, Hiddensee leaves the island behind long after the film itself is over.

TO WATCH “FATHERLAND” BY PAWEL PAWLIKOWSKI

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 29 Jul 2026 13:35:14 +0000

Premiered at the Festival de Cannes, Fatherland (2026) by Paweł Pawlikowski is less a historical drama concerned with precise facts. It is rather a reflection on exile, neglect and cultural identity. Sandra Hüller, Hans Zischler and August Diehl come together for this brilliant period drama, which took Best Director award in Cannes.

It is the summer of 1949, post war Germany, divided into four military zones. After a decade of staying in California, Thomas Mann (Hans Zischler) visits his Fatherland in order to receive the one of the most prestigious literature Awards, the Goethe Prize. First in the US military zone Frankfurt am Main, then in Soviet Weimar.

In the movie, he is accompanied and chauffeured by his daughter Erika Mann (Sandra Hüller), although he actually was travelling with his wife Katia Mann and not with their daughter Erika. The scenario still works quite well, as this is not a movie about historical accuracy, but rather a reconstruction of Mann’s voyage, allowing the film to transcend the chain of events and become a journey through European art, literature, and philosophy.

We see Thomas Mann arriving in the US military zone Frankfurt am Main, in late July 1949 with his daughter Erika. Thomas Mann’s next stop is Weimar, a Soviet military zone, which is already causing some speculation. To Mann, these cities are more than merely occupied military zones. These are part of a great literary history, cities in which Goethe was born, lived and created. To him, both of the cities are part of his Vaterland. In his original speech, which he held both in Frankfurt and Weimar almost identically, he uses the term Vaterland for his Homeland (Heimat), and he sees Germany as one and not divided into zones. He puts “Ich kenne keine Zonen” (I don’t know about any zones). Vaterland is a difficult term in today’s Germany, as it is almost entirely associated with far-right ideology after WWII. Exactly here lies the importance of Pawlikowski’s work. It shows Thomas Mann, whose work was banned by the Nazi regime, reclaiming Germany as his Vaterland while emphasizing its European roots and contributions to philosophy and art.

While the movie smartly provokes thought around Germany and Europe, it does not miss the chance to show how ignorant and how neglecting the whole political debate was towards fragile artistic souls. At this point, Klaus Mann comes into play, and the historical spectacle transforms into something more accusatory, almost a condemnation of all political and cultural forces surrounding him.

Pawlikowski must have been aware of the fact that Klaus Mann has committed suicide in May 1949 and months before Thomas Mann’s visit to Frankfurt and Weimar, and yes Thomas Mann did (or could) not attend to his son’s funeral in Cannes. Klaus Mann was his eldest son, a writer and anti-fascist, celebrated for early queer literature like Mephisto.

August Diehl appears as a devastated Klaus Mann, delivering an incredibly strong and heartbreaking performance that makes the whole film feel even heavier through his absence and Erika Mann’s grief. What begins as a road trip and, at first glance, a political debate around Vaterland gradually reveals a saddening truth about the ongoing disregard for vulnerable and creative outsiders, embodied here by Klaus Mann.

The film was widely praised by critics in Cannes and quickly became a strong contender for the Palme d’Or. Shot in striking black and white by Łukasz Żal, it is defined by great precision in framing and composition. It stands out as one of the key releases of this year.

“Fatherland” will be screened in German cinemas from 3 September 2026.

PRADA F/W 26: “SIMPLE STORIES”

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 29 Jul 2026 10:55:08 +0000

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For their upcoming Fall/Winter campaign, head designers Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons reflect on their previous collections through “Simple Stories”.

Prada has long maintained a close relationship with cinema, whether through direct collaborations with movie directors, most recently Yorgos Lanthimos for “Ritual Identities“, a series of surreal short films exploring identity and transformation, or through spectacular costume collaborations in high-profile films such as Wes Anderson’s “The Grand Budapest Hotel”, for which Prada designed key luggage pieces and contributed to the film’s distinctive visual universe. This long-standing dialogue with film also includes Roman Polanski’s “A Therapy”, a witty short film starring Ben Kingsley and Helena Bonham Carter, as well as Baz Luhrmann’s “The Great Gatsby”, where Prada reinterpreted archival designs for the lavish 1920s-inspired costumes.

Drawing inspiration from film for the new campaign therefore feels like a natural progression: it becomes a fashion vision, magically reframed through the lens of director Barry Jenkins. Clothes become whole new characters, drawing enticing worlds on the screen. Brought to life by Chen Haoyu, Kelvin Harrison Jr., Hunter Schafer and Troye Sivan, the viewer is drawn into a personal world—the stories of others that seem so simple at first glance but begin to unfold into complexity once you look closer.

The images created are intentionally quiet, with still lifes juxtaposed against the enigmatic portraits. Within the reflective yet realistic images, there lingers the echo of filmic contrasts, and the quiet legacy of a fashion brand deeply intertwined with the beauty of film.

TO WATCH “THE ODYSSEY“ BY CHRISTOPHER NOLAN

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 22 Jul 2026 08:00:00 +0000

Like many of Christopher Nolan’s films, The Odyssey has been one of the most anticipated films of the year, not only because of its ensemble cast, which includes Matt Damon, Anne Hathaway, Tom Holland, Robert Pattinson, Zendaya, and Charlize Theron, but also because of the director’s technical ambition. Shot entirely on IMAX film cameras, The Odyssey is worth the buzz, considering that IMAX built special equipment, including a so-called blimp for Nolan, to silence the notoriously loud IMAX cameras so that dialogue could be recorded on set, eliminating the need for ADR (Automated Dialogue Replacement). The whole thing is a soundproof box so big that the crew had to use mirrors to keep the eyelines consistent during filming, as they couldn’t see each other when standing close. Through this mirror trick, they could maintain eye contact through each other’s reflections. With its mechanism, the tricks required to film with it, and its impact on contemporary filmmaking, its significance already feels monumental. I can already see that giant rig standing in the Academy Museum in Los Angeles as part of its permanent exhibition.

Homer’s Odyssey is from a time of apparent magic, a homecoming journey full of obstacles and many side stories, a ballad of roughly 12,000 verses that follows the events of the Iliad, another epic attributed to Homer. Its lost and troubled hero, Odysseus (Matt Damon), longing for his home and beloved wife Penelope (Anne Hathaway), is nothing less than perfect for a Nolan film.

There are many moments throughout this almost three-hour film where it feels as though Nolan is referring to his own films, including Memento (2000), or perhaps he has been referring to Homer’s Odyssey throughout his filmmaking career. Told through flashbacks, The Odyssey by Nolan centers around the Trojan War, the guilt Odysseus carries, the sacrifices made for victory, and the silent power and perseverance of its female figures. All of these elements are layered gently in his screenplay and shot in an astonishing fashion by Hoyte van Hoytema. The film’s impact lingers for at least a few days, and you can still mentally dive deep and explore its rich texture, not only how beautiful it looks, but also its film score by Ludwig Göransson and incredibly powerful figures like the goddess Athene, played silently yet with such intensity by Zendaya, or Odysseus’ loyal friend Eumaeus, brought to life in a heartfelt performance by John Leguizamo.

There is little point in recounting the plot of a nearly three-thousand-year-old Homeric epic, but what makes Nolan’s adaptation remarkable is how relevant it remains in today’s landscape of war and its enduring impact across generations. Contrary to what might be apparent at first glance, Nolan’s The Odyssey also has a feminist side to it. The women are not merely companions to Odysseus’ journey, but key figures within it: Athene, Calypso and, of course, Penelope, whose strength and resilience become just as important as the hero’s own voyage.

TO WATCH „NINJA MOTHERF*CKING DESTRUCTION“ BY LOTTA SCHWERK

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 15 Jul 2026 09:40:13 +0000

It couldn’t get much more lesbian than this: “Ninja Motherf*cking Destruction“ tells a queer love story filmed over the course of eight (!) years.

Leonie and Marlene share an inseparable friendship – until Leonie falls in love with Naomi, diving headfirst into her first relationship. But Naomi comes with her own struggles: depressive episodes that increasingly take a toll on their relationship, and especially on Leonie as her primary source of support. Caught up in trying to care for Naomi, Leonie gradually neglects her other relationships, hurts her former best friend Marlene and ultimately loses herself in the process.

When the relationship finally comes to an end, Leonie realizes just how isolated she has become. She leaves Berlin to get her life back on track and starts a gardening apprenticeship. Amidst this new beginning, she comes to realize that something is still missing: her best friend.

The film convinces through its raw authenticity: minimal make-up, handheld camerawork and the complexity of adolescent relationships captured so well that it hurts.

Raising relevant questions of queer identity, director Lotta Schwerk was longing for a display of queer women without drifting into lesbian sexualization, nor ruthlessly romanticizing mentally ill women. With a predominantly FLINTA team and cast, she gives voice to young women falling in love and navigating all the complexities that come with it – not through unnecessary sexualization, but with remarkable honesty and vulnerability.

Perhaps most impressively, Schwerk was the same age as her protagonists while writing each year’s script, carefully taking the story one year at a time. Made without film school or public funding, “Ninja Motherf*cking Destruction“ has become a wild, unfiltered portrait of the bittersweet experience of growing up.

“Ninja Motherf*cking Destruction“ will be released in German cinemas on 16 July.

TO WATCH “FJORD“ BY CRISTIAN MUNGIU

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 08 Jul 2026 09:00:00 +0000

Palme d’Or laureate Cristian Mungiu’s return to Cannes with Fjord (2026), starring Sebastian Stan and Renate Reinsve, has made his mark in film history. By taking home the festival’s highest honor once again, the Romanian auteur becomes one of ten directors to have won the prestigious Palme d’Or a second time.

In Fjord, Mihai, a Romanian software engineer played by Stan, moves with his Norwegian wife Lisbet, portrayed by Reinsve, and their children to the remote Norwegian village where Lisbet grew up. Drawn by both Mihai’s new IT job and the area’s strong Christian community, the deeply conservative family initially receives a warm welcome from their neighbors and the local school staff. The situation changes dramatically after teachers notice bruises and marks on their eldest daughter (Ella (Vanessa Ceban). Following questioning by Norwegian child protection and police, the children are placed into provisional care while the parents face accusations due to their strict disciplinary methods. As the investigation unfolds, tensions grow between the family and the surrounding institutions, exposing cultural differences, language barriers, and the bias against them as Romanian migrants.

The ambiguity is clearly part of the film’s intention, but it does not always fully carry through, with key narrative threads left hanging or only partially developed, such as the children’s boat trip the day before the bruises are discovered.

The emotional fallout feels equally thin. After being separated from their parents, the teenagers appear completely unshaken, showing almost no confusion or psychological distress. Hiding Renate Reinsve behind those black-framed glasses comes at a similar cost. She’s an actor who usually communicates a great deal through micro-expressions, and in Fjord this is largely muted. Mungiu’s Fjord ultimately offers merely the outline of something more layered. It remains conceptually ambitious, but the tension between the conservative family dynamic and the surrounding institutional judgment never quite develops.