Alexander Kluge - Die Aktualität Adornos - Dankesrede zur Verleihung des Adorno Preises 11.09.2009, Frankfurt

Liebe Frau Oberbürgermeisterin,
lieber Friedrich Kittler,
liebe Anwesende!

Sie können sich denken, dass dieser nach T. W. Adorno benannte Preis bei mir eine starke Emotion auslöst. Ich habe Adorno in Frankfurt als junger Jurist kennengelernt, als ich 24 Jahre alt war. Auch die früheren Träger dieses Preises Jürgen Habermas, Michael Gielen, György Ligeti, Jacques Derrida - und für mich als Filmemacher der Meister – Jean Luc Godard, spiegeln mir Stücke meines eigenen Lebens und meiner Arbeit wieder.

Am Anfang meines gemeinsam mit Oskar Negt geschriebenen Buches ÖFFENTLICHKEIT UND ERFAHRUNG (1972) steht, etwas verklausuliert, eine Widmung: 11. September 1903, 6. August 1969. Das ist der Geburtstag von Theodor W. Adorno, den wir heute feiern, und sein Todestag. Adorno wäre heute 106 Jahre alt geworden. Sein Tod liegt 40 Jahre zurück. Weil er aber in seinen Schriften und Kompositionen und im Herzen von uns, die wir ihn kannten, nicht gestorben ist, will ich versuchen, ihn hier in der Paulskirche herbeizurufen, ich will einige Worte zur Aktualität Adornos sagen, indem ich einige seiner Gedanken und die Art seiner Verknüpfungsnetze nachahme.

Dass das Datum seines Geburtstags im öffentlichen Bewusstsein mit der Nachricht von einem großen Unglück in New York verbunden ist, hätte Adorno verblüfft.

Wie würde er mit dieser Wahrnehmung umgehen? In Unheil ist er nicht verliebt. Vielmehr spricht er von einem Anti-Realismus des Gefühls, mit dem wir Menschen ausgestattet sind, das sich gegen die Wahrnehmung eines Verhängnisses zunächst wehrt. Die Phantasie ist ein Fluchtwesen. Nur ideologisiert, also gezwungen, so Adorno, sucht die Phantasie die Sensation. In der Fülle der Nachrichten wäre ihm, vermute ich, eine Einzelheit aufgefallen: die Handys. Unter der Ruine der Türme soll es Kavernen, Höhlen, gegeben haben, ähnlich wie in Herculaneum und Pompeji und dort sollen noch Menschen kurze Zeit überlebt und Funkkontakt nach draußen gesucht haben. Die Frage taucht auf: Hätte es Auswege, Rettung, geben können? Mitten in der Katastrophe? Bagger und Kräne, die rasch zur Verfügung standen, konnten nicht auf den Trümmerberg hinauffahren. Sie konnten nicht nach den Verschütteten graben. Ihr Gewicht hätte mögliche Höhlen zerdrückt.

Es gab aber – ich versuche Adornos vermutlicher Assoziation zu folgen – eine große Stahlfirma in den USA, die Bechtel International Instruments Inc., in San Francisco. Sie hatte eine Art überwölbender Metallbrücke vorrätig, die groß genug war, das Trümmerfeld zu überbrücken. Von ihr aus hätte man graben können. Diese Hilfe wurde angeboten, aber kein Zuständiger war da, darüber zu entscheiden. Heute ist diese Konstruktion verkauft worden an die Ukraine, mit Spendenmitteln bezahlt, und sie überdeckt den sogenannten Sarkophag von Tschernobyl, ein brüchiges Betongrab, errichtet in der ersten Stunde der dortigen schrecklichen Havarie.

Adorno hätte aufgrund seiner Verknüpfung, motiviert durch den Eindruck des Schreckens (bei der Wahrnehmung eines Datums, das den eigenen Geburtstag, den eines Glückskinds, völlig verändert) zwei verschiedene Unglücke miteinander assoziativ vernetzt und er würde nicht zögern, wiederum die Havarie von Tschernobyl und die in diesem Jahr, 2009, uns beschäftigende Finanzkrise als Ereignisse ähnlicher Besonderheit miteinander zu verbinden. Sie sehen, wie er die Einzelheit, die Besonderheit und das Allgemeine immer aber auch die Korrektur durch das subjektive Gefühl zueinander fügt. Das Allgemeine, das Tschernobyl, die Finanzkrise und vermutlich sogar den Terror vom 11.09. miteinander verknüpft liegt darin, dass zuvor Wirklichkeit abgewählt wurde. Etwas unbeachtet blieb. Es handelt sich um den sog. Ausgrenzungsmechanismus.
Etwas bleibt, wie die 13. Fee im Märchen der Brüder Grimm, draußen und kommt als Rächer wieder. Daher, so würde Adorno fortfahren, ist es richtiger, den Unfall der Finanzkrise nicht bloß mit dem Crash von 1929, sondern mit der Havarie eines Kernkraftwerks wie Tschernobyl zu vergleichen. In beiden Fällen geht es um Unglücke, die viele für unwahrscheinlich hielten und die extrem hohe Folgen auslösen. Wenn man ein Verhängnis wahrnimmt, ist für Adorno die erste Frage, was zuvor unbeachtet blieb. So arbeitet Adornos Kopf, der auf seine Sinnlichkeit vertraut und während er wahrnimmt, sogleich mit der Philosophie beginnt. So arbeitet ein Seismograph. Ein solcher Mensch, das würde Adorno behaupten und ich folge ihm getreu, verhält sich in seiner Beobachtung praktisch.

Es zeigt sich, dass eine Theorie, die von der Dialektik der Aufklärung spricht und eine Erkrankung der Vernunft von altersher und in der Moderne diagnostiziert, kein System der Schwarzmalerei darstellt und ein solches auch nicht vorschlägt. Bei genauer Beobachtung sind immer auch Elemente der Rettung – entweder bevor das Verhängnis stattfindet oder während es stattfindet oder durch Lernen und Umkehr nach dem Unglück – festzustellen. Aber diese Elemente liegen verstreut auseinander. Unsere geschichtliche Erfahrung besagt, dass sie selten oder nie bisher rechtzeitig zueinander finden.

Es ist Verknüpfungsarbeit (und wenn eine Weberin vernetzt, nennt man das Text) notwendig, um das Nebeneinander von Rettung und Verhängnis, die Heterotopie, wahrzunehmen. Man muss das Allgemeine, das Besondere und die tückische Einzelheit drehen und wenden, wie es die Spinnerin Arachne bei Ovid mit ihren Netzen tut. Mann muss die Fakten zu einer Erzählung zusammenfügen. Erlöst die Fakten von der menschlichen Gleichgültigkeit! Arachne textet nämlich in die Gewänder von Menschen und Göttern, deren zweite Haut, eine Verdopplung der Realität: die Einfühlung und die Auswege, hinein.

Das Stahlgerüst von Bechtel gehört in dieser Hinsicht in kein System. Es ist unerwartet vorhanden. Ein Reparaturgerät, ein Fragment der Wirklichkeit. Man muss die Hoffnung, dass es Überlebende geben möge, dass wenigstens ein Stück des Unglücks ungeschehen bliebe, in sich zuspitzen, damit rettende Elemente zueinander finden. Kritik ist deshalb nach T.W. Adorno kein bloßes Schriftgut, kein Rechthaben in Form von Büchern gegenüber anderen Büchern, sondern konsequente aktive Reparaturarbeit. Kritik setzt Gegenproduktion gegen falsche Produktion voraus und findet nicht nur in den Akten der Geistesgeschichte statt.

Wie sieht Adorno aus? Ich saß 1956 in der Antrittsvorlesung des Altphilologen Prof. Patzer (Sie können diesen Gelehrten in meinem Film ABSCHIED VON GESTERN sehen). In der Reihe vor mir sitzt ein keineswegs großgewachsener Mann, wenig Haare, von intensiver Aufmerksamkeit, ungewöhnlich große Augen. Ich kannte ihn nicht. Ich habe ihn wohl angestarrt, sodass er zurückblickte und mich fragte, wer ich sei. Ich antwortete: Sie sind wohl Adorno. Ich kannte von ihm nur das, was Thomas Mann über ihn geschrieben hatte.

Ein freundlicher, kommunikativer Mensch der Gegenwart: T. W. Adorno. Zugleich aber von hoher Unbestechlichkeit und auch einem strengen Ernst, wenn es um seine Arbeit geht. Sie müssen versuchen sich vorzustellen, wie ruhig seine Hände bleiben, wenn er spricht und vorträgt. In einem zweistündigen Vortrag hat er die Hände nicht einmal bewegt, um sie als Ausdruckshilfe zu verwenden. Sie liegen ruhig da, während die Gedanken sein Hirn durchstreifen und sich uns, den Zuhörern, zuwenden. Auch die Gesichtszüge sind vollkommen ruhig. Nur die Augen sprechen. Keine überflüssige Nutzung der mehr als 200 Gesichtsmuskeln, über die ein Mensch verfügt. Ich kenne Abbildungen von Babyloniern, bürgerlichen Menschen von vor
4 000 Jahren. Sie sind ihm ähnlich. Er kommt von weither zu uns.

Um ihn näher zu beschreiben möchte ich einen Kernpunkt seines Denkens anführen. Sie kennen den Kategorischen Imperativ von Immanuel Kant: jeder moralische Mensch soll seine Taten so einrichten, dass sie Maxime einer allgemeinen Gesetzgebung sein könnten. Friedrich Nietzsche hat dieses Prinzip radikalisiert: handle stets so, dass du selber dein Verhalten ertragen könntest, wüsstest du, dass du deine Taten auf ewig wiederholen müsstest. Das ist äußerst praktisch gemeint. Siegmund Freud hat den gleichen Gedanken variiert: gegen das Verhängnis, die Fortsetzung des Fluchs in uns, das Böse, hilft nichts als die Allergie, der Kritik der Haut, nicht bloß der des moralischen Kopfes können wir vertrauen.

Adorno empfände vermutlich den Satz Nietzsches lebendiger und praxisnäher als die Formulierung Kants, aber Nietzsches Satz wäre ihm zu existenzialistisch, d.h. neben der Sache, gemessen an der praktischen Erfahrung in den 40-er Jahren des 20. Jahrhunderts. Adorno setzt also einen praktischeren und entschiedeneren Maßstab voraus. Öffentlicher Ausdruck (einschließlich Lyrik), Lernen und Bildung, ja jede Lebensäußerung, sagt er, steht unter dem Postulat, dass Auschwitz sich nicht wiederholt. Liebe Anwesende, Sie sehen in diesem Imperativ Adornos seinen Satz wiederholt: es gibt keine Praxis ohne Theorie. Das Verhängnis, das falsche Leben, ist der Motor von Gegenoperationen in der Theorie, zu der ja auch die Urteilskraft zählt. An Theorie wiederum (auch wenn sie selbst und für sich kein Treiber ist) orientiert sich die veränderte Praxis spontan, so wie sie von ihr erfährt.

Der legendäre Satz „Es gibt kein richtiges Leben im falschen“ heißt nirgends bei Adorno: wir wollen abwarten bis richtiges Leben kommt. Er bedeutet viel mehr: es gibt überhaupt kein Leben, wenn wir das Verhängnis, das, was Auschwitz (und alles, was heute und in Zukunft anders aussieht, aber Auschwitz wiederholt) ausmacht, nicht brechen. Das falsche Leben ist machtvoll und hermetisch und zugleich -gemessen an der historischen Ausstattung von uns Menschen - unwirklich und löcherig wie ein Schwamm. Adorno formuliert es so:

„Man darf sich weder
Von der Macht der Anderen
Noch von der eigenen Ohnmacht
Dumm machen lassen.“

Was heißt „entdummen“? Im Lateinischen heißt das Wort für den Prozess der Bildung: eruditio: aus dem rohen Holz etwas in einen geformten Zustand bringen. In diesem Begriff liegt in Nordwest-Europa ein Stück Pathos. Der Gelehrte Alkuin hat am Hofe Karls des Großen nach diesem Prinzip Schulen entwickelt. Im 11. Jahrhundert werden glanzvoll die Universitäten Paris, Bologna und Oxford gegründet. Es gibt zu dieser Zeit, Theologen und Juristen begründen das, eine 3-Gewalten-Theorie: Die Kirche, die bewaffnete Macht (die Ritter) und die Wissenschaft, heißt es, sind gleichrangige Mächte: sacerdotium, regnum, studium. Dem entsprechen symbolisch die drei Blätter des französischen Königswappens, die der Lilie.

Dieser frühe auf Bildung gestützte selbstbewusste Aufbruch Europas ist bald wieder zu Grunde gegangen. Er kehrt in unserem Land in der Klassik um 1800 einen kurzen Moment wieder. Man muss sich vor Augen führen, dass die barbarischen Zeiten in der Geschichte die Mehrheit haben. Für die längste Zeit der Geschichte der Menschheit ist die Sklaverei der Normalzustand. Erst spät, und zuerst nur in den Städten Nordwest-Europas, stellt sich der Begriff der Freiheit der von der Rechtsordnung anerkannten Sklaverei entgegen. Der Boden unserer modernen Zivilisation, das hört Adorno nicht auf zu betonen, ist dünn und unbefestigt.

Wir müssen, würde Adorno sagen, wenn er hier neben mir stünde, den Begriff der eruditio neu untersuchen. Der Naturzustand, das krumme Holz, aus dem Menschen gemacht sind, ist nicht dumm. Das Verhältnis der gebildeten Lehrer zu denjenigen, die sie bilden sollen oder besser, in denen etwas zur Bildung drängt, bedarf einer Korrektur. Max Horkheimer hat einmal gefordert, dass es für das Institut für Sozialforschung, die Trägerinstitution der Frankfurter Kritischen Theorie, neben den Sozialforschern und Philosophen auch Ärzte und Geburtshelfer geben müsste. Die Kunst der Hebamme, die Matromäeutik, weiß, dass die Neugeborenen das Ihre zur Geburt spontan leisten. Es geht um Hilfestellung, nicht um Formung, eruditio. Am Embryo ist nichts rohes Holz, alles davon ist Potenzial; es ist Leben.

In der Dialektik der Aufklärung gibt es einen versteckten Text (im Anhang): GENESE DER DUMMHEIT. Die Intelligenz, die wache Neugier, das Herz der Philosophie ist dort mit dem Fühler einer Schnecke verglichen. Das ist eine Eigenschaft, die Jeder hat, nicht nur die Menschen, sondern auch die Tiere. Dieser wache Geist „wagt sich nur zaghaft hervor“. Wird er verletzt, d. h. bedrohen ihn Schrecken oder Terror, zieht er sich ins Schneckenhaus zurück. Das sieht dann äußerlich wie Dummheit aus. Es wirkt sich auch als Trägheit, Passivität, d.h. dumm aus, ist in seiner Substanz aber lediglich ein anderer Aggregatzustand des Lebendigen.

Ich kenne kein schöneres Gleichnis für den Leitsatz der Aufklärung: sapere aude! Habe den Mut, dich deiner sinnlichen Gewissheit selber zu bedienen, als dieses Bild der feinfühligen Schnecke, das Bild des defensiven Charakters der Intelligenz. Dieser Charakter ist immer gegenwärtig, auch wo wir ihn nicht sehen. Ihn zu locken, seinen Mut zu stärken, ist Bildung. Eine Zauberkunst, eine Verführungskunst, eine ars amatoria, wie es Ovid nennt. Das ist der wesentliche Kern meines neuen Buches, heute erschienen, das ich ausdrücklich Adorno (und außerdem Niklas Luhmann) widme.

Das führt zu einer, herausfordernden Fragestellung, die Adornos Werk überall zugrundeliegt: es gibt einen eigenständigen Zugang der Liebesfähigkeit zur Aufklärung. Wenn die Vernunft erkrankt ist, welche menschlichen Kräfte enthalten ein Gegengift?

Immanuel Kant spricht in Bezug auf die Vernunft von dem „zärtlichen Keim“, den die Natur uns eingegeben hätte. Deshalb sollten wir mit dieser Ressource, mit dieser Eigenschaft nach authentischer Lebendigkeit zu suchen, lebhaften Gartenbau betreiben. Er spricht von einem „zärtlichen“ und nicht bloß von einem „zarten“ Keim. Er meint, wie Adam Smith und David Hume, die Einfühlung. Alle Texte von Theodor W. Adorno handeln direkt oder indirekt von dieser Spur, DEM ZÄRTLICHEN KEIM, von dem wir nicht beurteilen können, ob er auf einem erotischen oder auf einem wahrheitssuchenden Begehren beruht.

Es gibt keine Aufklärung ohne Glücksversprechen. Der Prozess der Aufklärung muss sich auf etwas gründen, das auf die eingeborene Glückssuche in uns Menschen antwortet. Die Behauptung, dass wir an die Stelle der erkrankten instrumentell gewordenen Ratio lebendige, das ausgeschlossene Dritte einbeziehende Fragment, Keimlinge, Samen, Stechlinge – Sie merken, dass der Ausdruck fehlt, aber die Sache durchaus verständlich bleibt – setzen könnten, ist jedenfalls nicht auf etwas Unmögliches gerichtet. Uns bleibt gar nichts anderes übrig als diese Spur zu verfolgen, wenn wir überleben wollen.

Wie macht man das praktisch? Offenbar hat das zu tun mit der Bauweise unserer Erfahrung. Erfahrungen macht jeder Mensch, aber ob er diese Erfahrungen mit Selbstbewusstsein verknüpfen kann, hängt davon ab, dass er die Erfahrung mit anderen teilt und abgleicht. Das ist eine Frage der Öffentlichkeit. Öffentlichkeit, so Adorno – und ebenso Kant in seiner Vorrede zur zweiten Kritik -, sind die Wohnungen und Städte, die unsere Erfahrung als Wohnsitz braucht.

Das hat für Adorno mit einem seiner Hauptthemen zu tun, der Verschränkung von Inhalt und Form, der Kompetenz, einen Sachverhalt adäquat auszudrücken. Die Form, sagt er, erzeugt die Sache. Und die Sache regiert die Form. Vielfalt, Polyphonie und die Kategorie des Zusammenhangs (das Ganze ist das Unwahre, aber die Einzelheit ohne das Ganze ist ebenfalls nichts) ist keine Stilrichtung, sondern Bedingung für Emanzipation, Teilhabe und Stimmigkeit.

Adorno betont an allen Stellen die Autonomie der verschiedenen Ausdrucksformen, die uns historisch überliefert sind. Sie verhalten sich wie Monaden, zueinander blind, aber in ihrer Tiefe drängen sie zu den anderen Ausdrucksformen und tauchen unerwartet in ihnen auf. Das Buch in der Oper, die Emotion der Oper in der „Oper des 20. Jahrhunderts“: dem Film.

So enthält das Buch seit etwa 6 000 Jahren eine autonome Formenwelt des Gedächtnisses. Alle vertrauenswürdigen Autoren, selbst die, deren Bücher beim Brand der Bibliothek von Alexandria verlorengingen, bilden eine Konstellation, eine gemeinsame Partitur, eine Planetenbrücke durch die Zeit.

Ich höre, wie Adorno mir souffliert, dass es beim Lesen nicht bleiben kann. Es geht auch um das Hören. Ein antiker Autor wie Ovid, dessen METAMORPHOSEN an Vernetzung die modernen Online-Systeme mühelos übertreffen, hat seine Dichtungen in erster Linie mündlich vorgetragen hat. Die Vertrauenswürdigkeit des Ohrs ist etwas anderes als das Lesen. Wir finden diese Vertrauenswürdigkeit in der Moderne in der wohl einzigen authentischen Erfindung des Hörfunks, dem Hörspiel.
Die gleiche Vertrauenswürdigkeit des Ohrs besitzt die 400 Jahre alte Geschichte der Oper. Die 80 000 Opern, die es seit 1600 gibt, so Adorno, bilden untereinander eine Partitur. Als Gesamtheit sind sie gerade nicht monodisch, sondern polyphon.

Besonders jung ist die Filmgeschichte, gerade 120 Jahre. Meine Großmutter mütterlicherseits, geb. 1872, ist älter als sie. Adorno hielt den Film zeitweise für keine originäre Kunstform. Einerseits wegen der Herrschaft der Kulturindustrie, die im Filmgewerbe besondere Züge trägt, aber auch weil er der Überschätzung des Films durch Walter Benjamin misstraute. Ich behaupte, dass ich ihn am Ende dazu verführt habe, diese Auffassung zu korrigieren. Er hätte mir nicht widersprochen, dass es die bewegten Bilder und die Kunst der Montage schon seit der Steinzeit (oder seit Erfindung der Sprache) im Kopf der Menschen gibt, gleich ob sie wachen oder träumen. Diese Sprache der bewegten Bilder, dem hätte er zugestimmt, besitzt eine eigene Autonomie, die weder den Worten, noch den Musiknoten einfach gehorcht. Wenn ich sage, dass die Filmkunst das Echo davon ist, hätte er zugestimmt.

Jede dieser Traditionen, das Lesen, das Hören und das Verfolgen bewegter Bilder, eignet sich einen Sachverhalt auf verschiedene Weise an und verändert durch den spezifischen Ausdruck die Sache selbst. Wenn ich diese Eigenständigkeit von Form und Sache respektiere, entsteht eine polyphone Formenwelt, eine Vielfalt, d. h. authentischer Ausdruck.

Subkutan, d. h. unter der Haut, verlaufen die Verbindungen der Verständigung, die Unterwassertiere oder Partisanen agieren. Die Subjektivität ist der Anker des Objektiven. In solchen Positionen liegt für mich die Modernität Adornos.

Man kann Adorno nur verstehen, wenn man beide Spuren liest: 1. den entschiedenen und partisanenreichen Kampf gegen die Lügensysteme, die uns umgeben und 2. die unbeirrbare Hoffnung, dass notfalls in Form einer Flaschenpost, an irgendeiner Stelle unserer Strände Fragmente oder Kieselsteine von wahrer Lebendigkeit ankommen. Kinder, so behauptet Adorno, erkennen so etwas spontan. Was Sie jetzt noch hören werden, ist ein Klavierstück Adornos aus dem Jahr 1945.

In unseren Tagen erleben wir, dass sich ein Leitmedium wandelt. Unsere Öffentlichkeiten zeigen in aller Welt Erscheinungen des Zerfalls und der Neubildung. In unseren Tagen scheint sich das Leitmedium zu verändern. Zu Adornos Entsetzen ist das Fernsehen offenbar in den vergangenen Jahrzehnten zum Leitmedium geworden. Leitmedium ist das, was ich einschalte, wenn etwas Außerordentliches passiert. Zum Beispiel am 11.09. in New York, also heute vor 8 Jahren. Ich schlage in jenem Moment kein Buch auf. Ich setze mich nicht an das Klavier. Ich suche nicht das nächstliegende Kino auf, sondern ich schalte z. B. CNN ein. Ob ich dieses Medium liebe oder nicht, es besitzt das Vertrauen von Millionen Menschen, die den Ernstfall dort und nicht woanders verfolgen. So etwas ist ein Leitmedium.

Heute wandert dieses Vertrauen teilweise vom Fernsehen weg ins Internet, das schneller ist und an dessen Netz mehr Menschen beteiligt sind. Oft bewegt sich dieses Medium auch frischer.

Bei jedem Wechsel des Leitmediums geht es aber, wie bei einer aufgewühlten See, so verstehen Sie Adorno richtig, erneut um alle früheren Leitmedien und auch um Ausdrucksformen von Herz und Verstand, die in der Minderheit blieben und um so zäher überleben. Die Polyphonie, so Adorno, ist eine Eigenschaft aller gesellschaftlichen Verhältnisse oder anders formuliert: die Dialektik ist keine logische, sondern eine die Zeitabläufe verknüpfende Dimension.

Und so kommen aus der Zukunft klassische Anforderungen erneut auf uns zu. Wir brauchen mehr und stärkere Orientierungen der Öffentlichkeit, wie sie von den großen Zeitungen ausgehen, also der klassischen Öffentlichkeit. Wir brauchen das Buch und die unverrückbaren klassischen Texte dringender als zuvor. Die Gravitationskraft stimmiger Musik vermag Texte emotional in Bewegung zu bringen und verknüpft Fiktion und Dokumentation neu. Das brauchen wir, weil Wirklichkeiten wie die Finanzkrise oder asymmetrischer Krieg menschliche Lebensläufe direkt treffen und Menschen verletzen und zugleich, wie großartige Fiktionen, erscheinen. Um damit umzugehen und um in diesen Labyrinthen zu orientieren, braucht man nicht einen einzelnen roten Faden, sondern man braucht die radikale Ausdrucksvielfalt, die Adorno voraussetzt.
Ich möchte Ihnen am Schluss eine Geschichte erzählen, die Ihnen zeigt, wie die Wirklichkeit selber Vielfalt nebeneinander stellt und es von uns abhängt, ob sie zur Kooperation oder zum Robinsonismus führt. Im Wintersemester 1968/69 hier in Frankfurt, mitten in der Kampfzone studentischen Protests, in Adornos Todesjahr, übernimmt der Soziologe Niklas Luhmann die Vertretung von Adornos Lehrstuhl an der Johann Wolfgang Goethe Universität. Adorno brauchte ein Freisemester, er will seine ästhetische Theorie fertig schreiben. Sie alle können sich die Thematik des studentischen Protests vorstellen. Ganz abgewendet davon hält Luhmann das Adorno Vertretungsseminar mit dem Titel: „Liebe als Passion“. Vier Studierende sind Teilnehmer des Seminars. Draußen Besetzung des soziologischen Seminars, später des Instituts für Sozialforschung, revolutionäre Entwürfe. In dieser Zeit war Adorno von einer Geliebten verlassen worden. Er suchte persönlichen Rat bei Luhmann, wenn dieser schon seinem Seminar einen so vielversprechenden Titel gegeben hatte.

Das ist eine Momentaufnahme aus dem Arsenal der so erfindungsreichen Autorin, der Wirklichkeit. In einem solchen Laboratorium, in dem extreme Gegensätze dicht nebeneinander wohnen, entwickelte sich in der Achsenzeit der Antike (500 vor Chr.) die erste große Philosophie, entwickelte sich um 1800 die Weimarer Klassik und beinahe hätte es hier 1968 eine Frankfurter Klassik geben können. Es hätten nur vorhandene Geister wie Hans Jürgen Krahl, Luhmann, Adorno, Habermas eng zusammenarbeiten müssen. Von solcher Kooperation kann man sich in unserer Welt nicht genug wünschen.

Sie hören jetzt noch eine kurze Komposition von Adorno aus dem Jahr 1945.

Ich danke Ihnen für Ihre Geduld.

Adorno - Es gibt kein richtiges Leben im Falschen

KANT - Reloaded

Der Naturwissenschaftler, Pädagoge, Forscher, Hochschullehrer und Philosoph Immanuel Kant (1724 - 1804) war nicht nur einer der größten Denker seiner Zeit, sondern einer der größten und einflussreichsten Denker überhaupt. Mit ihm verbindet man Werke wie die Kritik der "reinen" und der "praktischen Vernunft". Sie markieren eine Wende im Denken, die dem Menschen ein für alle Mal den direkten Zugriff auf seine Welt, auf ein "Ding an sich" verbietet, an ihn aber nichtsdestotrotz einen unbedingten moralischen Anspruch stellt. Bei genauer Betrachtung ist Kant bis heute aus keiner Diskussion über Philosophie, Moral und Erkenntnis wegzudenken.
"KANT - Reloaded" steht für den Versuch, den Philosophen als einen gegenwärtigen Denker zu begreifen, dessen Werk sich immer wieder neu lädt und in den kulturellen Denkprozess einspeist. Bis heute bestimmt Kant unser Leben mit, etwa, wenn wir nach dem Fortschritt des Menschen zum Besseren fragen, nach dem Frieden in einer globalen Welt oder nach der Einheit in der Vielzahl der Kulturen, Epochen, Religionen und Gesellschaften. Auch die Frage nach der
Universalität der Menschenrechte ist bis heute aktuell. Der Film stellt Kant daher nicht als einen fernen Philosophen, als einen Mann mit Perücke dar, der aus einer verstaubten Vergangenheit hervorgekramt wird. Stattdessen wird Kant als Zeitgenosse verstanden: Als jemand, der in seinen Texten noch immer zu uns spricht und vor allem nach wie vor etwas zu sagen hat. Der Filmemacher Theo Roos drehte bereits verschiedene Filme über Philosophen, zuletzt über Friedrich Nietzsche. Auch für die "Kulturzeit"-Reihe "Philosophische Vitamine" zeichnet er verantwortlich.


Watch Kant Reloaded und Delta - Kant in Educational  |  View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

A Supernova Named Laurie Anderson (2) Art and Technology: Laurie Anderson Interview with Charles Amirkhanian (1984)

"We're so nice..." The smile of a new Monalisa. Anderson is not afraid to step in a new aesthetical territory, bravely alone in the World of Things...

LAURIE ANDERSON: I want to cover a few things [this evening] particularly some ideas about talking and performance and a little bit about TV and some things about artificial intelligence. To begin with I'd like to talk about the song "KoKoKu," which is a song from the Mister Heartbreak record. Sometimes I find it hard to talk about music. Steve Martin once said, "Talking about music is like dancing about architecture." But you can do that. Recently, I saw an Oscar Schlemmer revival of some Bauhaus dance work, and you actually can dance about architecture—volume, space, and construction. I wrote "KoKoKu" because I was invited to a Bean Festival that was going to happen in the Southwest last year about this time. It was an Indian Festival, and the idea was basically to try to come to terms with some of the Earth's wobble. The leaders of this particular group of Indians felt that they had been getting some signals from out there, and basically the message that they had received was, "You have such a beautiful planet, please be very careful."

I never made it to that festival, although this Saturday I am going to a full moon Zuni Festival. It's an all-night drum festival out in the desert presided over by some characters called The Mudhcads who have been rehearsing for a year, learning the creation myth backwards. So I don't know if they start with everything and go back to zero or if they talk backwards or what. . . .
In the song "KoKoku," there's motion on several levels. It begins with a percussion track, the word shake, which is done on a harmonizer, put into the repeat mode. The harmonizer has a very short memory, pathetically short—point five seconds, that's it—but once you register it in the machine it will continue indefinitely until it's unplugged or until it explodes.

So the word shake is then put into a random mode which turns it into a Möbius Strip. This is a rhythm which is very precise over about a 17-second pattern. So, that's the bottom motion, a very small shaking. Above that on the next layer are various kinds of vibrato. Phoebe Snow's vibrato, which is already very slow, I slowed down further using a Syn-clavier. Then there's the kayagum, which is a Korean zither, played by several motions—you damp a string, you pull it, and you also pull long threads—so it's a beautiful action, and it also has a very very wide, slow vibrato.

So there are those motions that happen over the others. And then the lyrics themselves are about a wider, broader motion: people looking up and people looking back down. The words in Japanese are fake haikus that I made up—which are more or less grammatically correct in Japanese. They are place words, still images.

Mountain with clouds. I am here. A voice.

Another verse is—

Birds are there.
A cry, my voice.
Mountain with clouds.

The English turns and moves around these Japanese freeze frames. . . .

CHARLES AMIRKHANIAN: What do you think about improvised music? You don't seem to use it very much.

LA: I never really understood what improvised music really is. When does the happy accident become a plan? When it can be repeated? When I start working on a piece everything is improvised, and because I work with tape, a lot of those chance events, those happy accidents, end up being saved as is. So in a sense, this is improvisation. Also, I've tried to leave room for improvised solo. In "KoKoKu," the kayagum player is basically improvising around the bass line. Through repetition, improvised lines become parts.

CA: DO you feel that the ambiguities in your work that resonate and then aren't resolved are a way to make people think?

LA: Well, it's true that very few of these ideas are spelled out in no uncertain terms. I really try to leave a lot of room and a lot of air so that people can draw their own conclusions. It's not that I don't have my own conclusions, but it's the process I'm interested in. For example, a lot of the rhythms are created visually. The music is going, and the pictures are going . . . and that creates a kind of counterpoint between what you're seeing and what you're hearing, a kind of polyrhythmic situation that you put together yourself. It's the same way with some of the ideas and issues that are raised in the work. My greatest fear is to be didactic, and even if I had "answers" I would never try to foist them on people. I think I've gradually learned to respect other people a little bit more and let them, in a sense, let them make connections themselves.

CA: DO you feel you have to seduce the machine in order to get it to do what you want?

LA: I have a real personal relationship with machines. It's true that even though I've been very very critical of technology in terms of what I say, I find that I make those criticisms through 15,000 watts of power and lots of electronics. And that says a couple of things at least, that I hate it and love it.

CA: I remember you said something to me once. You said, "Get the machine and work with it a lot before you go out and try to use it in your pieces."

LA: It's true, you have the thing and you have to fully understand it before you use it. The machine is an instrument. Occasionally, I talk to people in art schools who have problems with this. For example, let's say you're a painter and you want to use video tape, which is a very expensive medium. Not a lot of art students can afford it. So you're in a funny situation of trying to plan something without actually working with your material. You have to think the whole thing out and then get the equipment to accomplish it.

It's as if you were a painter, and you had to just think of this amazing painting and then one day go out and rent a brush and come back and paint the thing real fast, and return it to the rental place clean the next day. It's very difficult to work like that. Anyone who uses any kind of material—words, or stone, or notes—knows you have to work with your material.

It will teach you things. When I get really stuck—when I think, "This is it! This is the last idea I'm ever going to get," I try to shake it by just playing with things. I try to let the material suggest the shape. Otherwise, it feels forced . . . jammed together. So, I suppose I'm just saying something about having a kind of respect for the material or the equipment that you're working with, and taking the time to learn about it. . . .

CA: DO you get into a trance during performances and if so, what kind of experiences do you have?

LA: I think that I probably do, in a way, but also I'm so aware of what could possibly go wrong. And things always do. Things always break down, little red lights on the harmonizer go dead, and I usually have a small screwdriver so that I can surreptitiously try to do something else while I'm talking, and be trying to fix whatever's going wrong. I actually like that probability because I find it very exciting to have to improvise. When something breaks down, you really can't say, "Can we turn the houselights on, please, we have some problems here." So, I probably am thinking about a couple of things, and that probably is a trance-like state. . . .

CA: In the performances, how do you put them together technically, what's live and what isn't?

LA: This is a giant sort of puzzle and the scores for these things are done in huge columns and it shows you what exact image is being used at that second. A lot of the basic tracks are on tape and I try to record those things so that they have as much to do with the live sound as possible. So I do several mixes and if the hall is a certain size, I use one mix that has a little bit of reverb on it. If the hall is very large I use something that has no reverb on it. I really try to tune the tape to the room and mix with the live instruments so that it doesn't sound like live musicians playing with tape. If you listen real hard, it does, and those of you who work with that sort of thing, I'm sure, know what's going on. . . .

Now, when things break down, everybody starts looking over at everyone else, and we try to get out of it. That is, as I said, the most exciting part, it's a lot of fun to try to do that. . . .

CA: Did you pick up a background in analog and digital electronics?

LA: At one point I thought, well, I could stop working for three years and really try to learn some things about electronics. But I was afraid to do that really, because I thought, what if after three years I couldn't remember why I was learning this stuff? So, I try to learn only what I need to know at the time, and I also work with an electronic designer, Bob Bielecki, who can do a lot of rather elaborate designs. I'm pretty good on emergency maintenance, that's my specialty. . . .

CA: Could you talk about how your storytelling works into music, and how long it takes to get there.

LA: I think often the case is that words are just hanging around and I don't really know what to do with them, I can't quite throw them away yet. I always try to start things differently, sometimes with music, sometimes with an image. But I'd say the main focus of it is really words. I try to establish a very simple rhythm and then on top of that language drifts around with its own rhythms. I rarely write in stanzas or things that rhyme or things that scan or things that count out in a certain number of syllables. I think I like talking rhythms more than musical rhythms. . . .

And in terms of your question, about my spiritual reaction to it, I think of electronics as being, in fact, in a sense closer to that side. It doesn't go through the hands the way an instrument does. I love the violin because it's a hand held instrument, it's a very nineteenth-century instrument, something that you hold as opposed to a keyboard which reminds me of driving a car. But electronics is very connected, of course, in terms of speed, to your brain. It's very very fast. So there's a kind of immediate freedom that you have. . . .
The point I'm trying to make is that, in a sense, as these two life forms—human and machine—begin to merge a little bit, we're talking about technology really as a kind of new nature, something to measure ourselves against, and to make rules from, and to also investigate.

One of the things that is most encouraging about this is that kids who begin to work with computer systems when they're real little aren't intimidated by them as opposed to adults who actually become more dogmatic if they work with computers. Instead of having a phone conversation or a meeting, they talk to each other through their terminals, and one of the things that happens is that people use a lot more foul language. Because you can't do that really very easily on the phone, but when you abstract it like that, it's a little bit easier.

Also people become, strangely, more sure of themselves. They reach a decision more quickly and they become more sure that they're right, and less willing to give and take, when it's done through a terminal. Which I think has something to do with when you write something down and try to work it out, and then type it, it has real and sudden distance. It's almost as if somebody else did it when you see it typed out, you have a kind of distance from it. It's a Little bit like that working with a terminal. . . .

I think there's a strange longing to talk to machines. There's a parking lot in Zurich. You drive up to this booth, and you hear this voice that says, "It's going to be so and so many francs to park here," in this kind of mechanical voice, and it shoots this ticket out. But, there's something a little bit too odd about the voice. There's a cable running out the door, and you can see this guy in the adjoining room doing the voice, you know, kind of mechanically, making the parking lot seem a little more high tech.

CA: Assuming that you would like an effect on mankind as a whole right now, what effect would you like your music to have?

LA: I can never predict what other people will like. I can't even predict what I will like. I suppose that the effect that I want from myself from music is, in a way, to scare myself a little bit, to surprise myself, to wake up.
About continuity. I don't know how many of you have spent time in New York but you can really lose track of that there because it really is, "Hey, what's hot this week?" That can become very deadening after a while. I'm thinking particularly of an evening that I mentioned before, the work of Oscar Schlemmer, the Bauhaus designer/choreographer. In this reconstruction of his work, Andreas Weininger, who used to play trumpet in the Bauhaus band, showed up at the Guggenheim to talk. This guy was 85 years old, and it was a Saturday night, and he came out and he said, "Hi, I'm from the nineteenth century." And we go, "Whoa." He said, "You know, we had Saturdays in the nineteenth century too, and what we did was . . ." and he proceeded to describe these insane long-ago evenings. It really seemed so alive and exciting. So wonderful. It was a kind of real continuity, and you really felt that, yes, there have been artists, and there is a long line, and we can learn from each other, and we can go forward, and try to be as generous as possible with each other.

*Laurie Anderson and Charles Amirkhanian, excerpts from "Laurie Anderson Interview with Charles Amirkhanian," Speaking of Music Series, San Francisco Exploratorium, 6 December 1984; published in Melody Sumner, Kathleen Burch, and Michael Sumner, eds., The Guests Go in to Supper: John Cage, Robert Ashley, Yoko Ono, Laurie Anderson, Charles Amirkhanian, Michael Peppe, K. Atchley (San Francisco: Burning Books, 1990), 147-57. By permission of the author and the artist.

I come very briefly to this place. I watch it move. I watch it shake.
Kumowaku yamano. Watashino sakebi. Watashino koewo.
Ushano kokoku. Watashiwa sokoni. Watashiwa asobu.
Mountain with clouds. A cry. My voice.
Home of the brave. I'm here now. And lost.

They say the dead will rise again. And here they come now.
Strange animals out of the Ice Age. And they stare at you.
Dumbfounded. Like big mistakes. And we say: Keep cool.
Maybe if we pretend this never happened, they'll all just go away.

Watashiwa sokoni. Watashiwa asobu. Mewotoji. Mewotoji.
Kikunowa kotori. Watashino sakebi. Watashino koewo.
I am here in this place. Losing. My eyes are closed. Closed.
Birds are there. Hearing something. Shouting. My voice.
(And yet, we could all be wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.)

Kumowaku yamano. Watashiwa sokoni. Watashiwa asobu.
Kumiwaku yamano. Kikunowa kotori. Watashino sakebi.
Mountains with clouds. I am there. Lost.
Mountains with clouds. Birds are there. Hearing something. A shout.

They say the world is smaller now. Small world.
They say that man is taller now. Tall man.
They say the stars are closer now. Thank you, lucky stars.
You come very briefly to this place.
Jikanwa tomaru. Ushano kokoku.
Time is stopped. Home of the brave.

And on a very distant star, slimy creatures scan the skies.
They've got plates for hands. And telescopes for eyes. And they say: Look! Down
They say: Watch it move. Watch it shake. Watch it turn. And shake.
Watashiwa sokoni. Watashiwa asobu. Kumowaku yamano.
Watashino sakebi. Watashino koewo. Mewotoji. Mewotoji.
I am there. Lost. Mountains with clouds.

A cry. A shout. My eyes are shut. Shut.
And we say: Watch us move. Watch us shake. We're so pretty.
We're so pretty. We say: Watch us move now. Watch us shake.
We're so pretty. Shake our hands. Shake our heads. We shake our feet.

We're so fine. The way we move. The way we shake.
We're so nice.


To be continued in A Supernova Named Laurie Anderson Part 3. "Kokoku"...

The End of The Second Thirty Years War (1914-1945): The Russian-American Link-Up at Torgau on 25 April 1945

Калинка, калинка, калинка моя!
В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!

Ах, под сосною, под зеленою,
Спать положите вы меня!
Ай-люли, люли, ай-люли,
Спать положите вы меня.

Калинка, калинка, калинка моя!
В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!

Ах, сосенушка ты зеленая,
Не шуми же надо мной!
Ай-люли, люли, ай-люли,
Не шуми же надо мной!

Калинка, калинка, калинка моя!
В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!

Ах, красавица, душа-девица,
Полюби же ты меня!
Ай-люли, люли, ай-люли,
Полюби же ты меня!

Калинка, калинка, калинка моя!
В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!

Little snowberry, snowberry, snowberry of mine!
Little raspberry in the garden, my little raspberry!

Ah, under the pine, the green one,
Lay me down to sleep,
Ah, rock-a-baby,
Lay me down to sleep.

Little snowberry, snowberry, snowberry of mine!
Little raspberry in the garden, my little raspberry!

Ah, little pine, little green one,
Don't rustle above me,
Ah, rock-a-baby,
Don't rustle above me.

Little snowberry, snowberry, snowberry of mine!
Little raspberry in the garden, my little raspberry!

Ah, you beauty, pretty maiden,
Take a fancy to me,
Ah, rock-a-baby,
Take a fancy to me.

Little snowberry, snowberry, snowberry of mine!
Little raspberry in the garden, my little raspberry!

Mr. Neutron - The Most Dangerous Man in the World - Monty Python's Flying Circus - 4th Season Episode.44

Staring also CIA Agent Teddy Salad

Part 1


(A train stops at the station. The train doors open and out steps Mr Neutron. He looks like an American footballer, with enormous shoulders, tapering to a thin waist. He has very regular features and piercing eyes and is most impressive. He stands at the door of the train for a moment. The words Mr Neutron are written in bold diagonally across his chest. He carries a Sainsbury shopping bag.)

Voice Over: Mr Neutron! The most dangerous and terrifying man in the world! The man with the strength of an army! The wisdom of all the scholars in history! The man who had the power to destroy the world. (animation of planets in space) Mr Neutron. No one knows what strange and distant planet he came from, or where he was going to!... Wherever he went, terror and destruction were sure to follow.

(Cut to Neutron's garden. He has three little picnic chairs out and is having tea with Mr and Mrs Entrail, a middle-aged couple. The lady, a little overdressed dominates. Mr Entrail sits there rather sourly.)

Voice Over: Mr Neutron! The man whose incredible power has made him the most feared man of all time... waits for his moment to destroy this little world utterly!

Mrs Entrail: Then there's Stanley ... he's our eldest ... he's a biochemist in Sutton. He's married to Shirley...

Mr Neutron: (in a strange disembodied voice, grammatically correct but poor in intonation) Shirley who used to be the hairdresser?

Mrs Entrail: Yes, that's right, I think she's a lovely person. (indicates her husband) My husband doesn't ... he thinks she's a bit flash.

Mr Entrail: I hate 'er! I hate 'er guts.

Mrs Entrail: And they, of course, they come down most weekends, so you'll be able to meet them then.

Mr Neutron: l'd ... love ... to. Hairdressing is very interesting.

Mrs Entrail: And very important, too. If you don't care for your scalp, you get rabies. Then there's Kenneth, he's our youngest. Mind you, he's a bit of a problem... at least my husband thinks he is, anyway.

Mr Entrail: Nasty little piece of work, he is, I hate him!

Mrs Entrail: Mind you, the one we hear so much about nowadays is Karen. She married a Canadian - he's a dentist - they live in Alberta - two lovely children, Gary who's three, Leslie who's six. They look like the spitting image of Karen. D'you want to see a photo ... ?

Mr Neutron: Oh, yes please.

Mrs Entrail: All right.

(She goes to get a photograph.)

Mr Entrail: They're a couple of little bastards. I hate 'em. They've got eyes like little pigs, just like their mother. She's a disaster ... a really horrible-looking person, she is. I thought that one would stay on the shelf, but along comes this stupid dentist git. He's a real creepy little bastard, he is. I hate 'im.

Mr Neutron: This is a nice area.

Mr Entrail: It's like a bloody graveyard. I hate it.

Mr Neutron: It's handy for the shops and convenient for the West End.

Mr Entrail: If you like going to the West End. I think it's a stinking dump.

(Cut to a well-guarded American government building, with the letters 'FEAR' on a board outside.)

Voice Over: Meanwhile in Washington, at the headquarters of 'FEAR' - the Federal Egg Answering Room - in reality a front name for 'FEEBLE' - the Free World Extra-Earthly Bodies Location and Extermination Centre... all was not well.

(A high-security operations room - maps, charts. monitor screens. A message comes chattering over the teleprinter. A teleprinter operator rips it out and takes it over to Captain Carpenter who sits at a control desk.)

Carpenter: Good God! (he grabs a red flashing phone) Get me the Supreme Commander Land, Sea and Air Forces, immediately!

(Cut to a large room, empty apart from a very large desk with a large American eagle emblem above it. We hear American military music. There is nothing on the desk, except for a very futuristic, dynamic-looking intercom. Behind the desk the supreme commander sits. After a moment, slowly and rather surreptitiously, he sniffs his left armpit inside his jacket. Then, with a quick look around to see that no one is watching, he smells the other armpit. He sits up again, then cups his hand in front of his face to smell his breath. He looks worried still. He reaches down slowly and takes his shoe off. He has just brought it up to his nose when the intercorn buzzes loudly and a light flashes. The music stops. He jumps, and quickly takes his shoe off the desk. He presses a switch on the intercom.)

Commander: Hello?

Voice: This is Captain Carpenter sir, from FEAR.

Commander: You mean FEEBLE?

Voice: Yes, sir ...

Commander: What is it?

Voice: Mr Neutron is missing, sir!

Part 2


Mr. Neutron is Missing

Commander: Mr Neutron! Oh my God! OK - Surround the entire city! Send in four waves of armed paratroopers with full ground-to-air missile support! Alert all air bases! Destroy all roads! We'll bomb the town flat if we have to!

Carpenter: Sir! Sir! He's not in Washington, sir.

Commander: OK! Hold everything! Hold everything! Hold it! Lay off! Lay off... Where is he?

Carpenter: We don't know, sir ... all we know is he checked out of his hotel and took a bus to the airport.

Commander: All right! I want a full-scale Red Alert throughout the world! Surround everyone with everything we've got! Mobilize every fighting unit and every weapon we can lay our hands on! I want... I want three full-scale global nuclear alerts with every army, navy and air force unit on eternal standby!

Carpenter: Right, sir!

Commander: And introduce conscription!

Carpenter: Yes, sir!

Commander: Right!

(He slams the intercom button down and sits there. Silence again. His eyes look from side to side then slowly he goes back to smelling himself.)

Voice Over: So the world was in the grip of FEAR! A huge and terrifying crisis generated by one man! (zoom into Neutron in his front garden, weeding; behind him the group of GPO people are sitting opening another box fifty yards further down from the first one; a line of she recently opened boxes stretches up the road)... easily the most dangerous man the world has ever seen, honestly. Though still biding his time, he could strike at any moment. Could he be stopped in time?

(A lady stops and chats to him.)

Mrs Smailes: You've got a bit of work to do there, then.

Mr Neutron: Yes, it is a problem.

Mrs Smailes: Mrs Ottershaw never used to bother ... then of course she was very old... she was 206! Well, must be going... if you need any help I'll send Frank round. He could do with a bit of'exercise, ha! ha! ha! ha! ... Fat old bastard...

(She walks off. Neutron goes back to his weeding. Cut back to the supreme commander's office. He is sniffing himself again., only this time he has his whole shirt front pulled up and he is trying to smell under his shirt. The intercom goes. He quickly tucks his shirt in and depresses the switch.)

Commander: Yes?

Carpenter: Captain Carpenter here, sir. We've been on red alert now for three days, sir, and still no sign of Mr Neutron.

Commander: Have we bombed anywhere? Have we shown 'em we got teeth?

Carpenter: Oh yes, sir. We've bombed a lot of places fiat, sir.

Commander: Good. Good. We don't want anyone to think we're chicken.

Carpenter: Oh no! They don't think that, sir. Everyone's really scared of us, sir.

Commander: Of us?

Carpenter: Yes, sir.

Commander: (pleased) Of our power?

Carpenter: Oh yes, sir! They're really scared when they see those big planes come over.

Commander: Wow! I bet they are. I bet they are. I bet they're really scared.

Carpenter: Oh they are, sir.

Commander: Do we have any figures on how scared they are?

Carpenter: No ... no figures, sir. But they sure were scared.

Commander: Ah! But it's not working?

Carpenter: No, sir.

Commander: OK. We'll try another tactic. We'll try and out-smart this Neutron guy. Yes, there's one man who could nail him.

Carpenter: One guy? That won't frighten anyone, sir.

Commander: He's the most brilliant man I ever met. We were in the CIA together. He's retired now. He breeds rabbits up in the Yukon... '

Carpenter: What's his name, sir?

Commander: His name is Teddy Salad.

Carpenter: Salad as in... ?

Commander: Lettuces, cucumber, radishes. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Carpenter: Where do I find him, sir?

Commander: The Yukon. Oh, and Carpenter ...

Carpenter: Yes, sir?

Commander: Make sure you get a decent disguise.

(Cut to the Yukon. Carpenter is trekking along. He is in ballet tights and heavy make-up with a big knapsack with 'Nothing to do with FEEBLE' on the back. He comes across a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. He presses the doorbell. A rather twee little chime. The door is opened by a huge lumbjack.)

Carpenter: Oh, hello. My name's Carpenter. I'm from the US Government.

Lumberjack: Are you from the army?

Carpenter: Er... no... I'm... er... I'm... I'm from the ballet. The US Government Ballet.

(The lumberjack's eyes light up.)

Lumberjack: The ballet! The ballet's coming here?

Carpenter: Well maybe...

Lumberjack: Oh, that's great! We love the ballet. Last year some of us from Yellow River got a party to go see the ballet in Montreal. (Dimly we can see behind the lumberjack a bevy of beautiful boys of all nations.)

Carpenter: Look, I was wondering...

Lumberjack: Oh, we had a marvellous time. It was Margot Fonteyn dancing 'Les Sylphides'... oh, it was so beautiful...

Carpenter: Do you know...

Lumberjack: Do you know how old she is?

Carpenter: Who?

Lumberjack: Margot Fonteyn.

Carpenter: No.

Lumberjack: She's 206!

Carpenter: Look, I hear there's a US ballet organizer round these parts by the name of Teddy Salad.

Lumberjack: You mean the special agent?

Carpenter: Well...

Lumberjack: He's an ex-CIA man. He's not a ballet dancer.

(Laughter from the boys in the hut.)

Carpenter: Well, I just want to see him on some ballet business...

Lumberjack: Well, you could try the store...

Carpenter: Oh, thank you. (he turns to go)

Lumberjack: Hey! Can you get us Lionel Blair's autograph?

(Carpenter walks away.)

Voice Over: While precious time was being lost in Canada, the seconds were ticking away for the free world...

(Jarring chord Cut to Neutron's house. He is hanging flowery print wallpaper in his sitting room. Helping him is the quite enormously vast Frank Smailes who stands rather helplessly looking up at Neutron who is on a plank between two ladders.)

Voice Over: Already Neutron - who, you will remember, is infinitely the most dangerous man in the world, he really is - was gathering allies together.

Mr Neutron: Try having an omelette for your evening meal... perhaps with yogurt and grapefruit.

Mr Smailes: Oh, I've tried that ... I once got down to fifty-six stone. But I couldn't stay like that. I used to take potatoes wherever I went. I used to go to the cinema with three hundredweight of King Edwards, I'd eat 'em all before I got out of the toilet. I had to go on to bread.

Mr Neutron: What about salad?

Mr Smailes: Teddy Salad?

Mr Neutron: No, no, no - salad - as in lettuces, radishes, cucumber...

Part 3


Teddy Salad [CIA Agent]

(Sketch continues from 'Mr Neutron is missing'.....Cut to Carpenter in a log cabin trading post with trestle tables. Six Eskimos are sitting in a group at one end of the other tables. An Italion chef in a long white apron and greasy shirt, is standing over Carpenter. Carpenter sits at one table with a huge fresh salad in front of him.)

Italian: You don't like it?

Carpenter: No, I didn't want to eat a salad. I wanted to find out about a man called Salad.

Italian: You're the first person to order a salad for two years. All the Eskimos eat here is fish, fish ...

First Eskimo: (very British accent) We're not Eskimos.

Second Eskimo: Where's our fish. We've finished our fish.

Italian: What fish you want today, uh?

First Eskimo: Bream please.

Italian: Bream! Where do I get a bream this time of year? You bloody choosy Eskimo pests.

First Eskimo: We are not Eskimos!

Italian: Why don't you like a nice plate of canelloni?

Eskimos: Eurrrrghhh!

First Eskimo: That's not fish.

Italian: (as he turns to go in kitchen) I've had my lot of the Arctic Circle. I wish I was back in Oldham ...

(Carpenter crosses to the Eskimos.)

Carpenter: (speaking slowly, and clearly as for foreigners) Do any of you Eskimos ... speak ... English?

First Eskimo: We're not Eskimos!

Third Eskimo: I am.

Others: Sh!

Italian: (off) Haddock!

Eskimos: Where?

Carpenter: (still speaking as if to foreigners) Do any of... you ... know... a man ... called ... Salad?

First Eskimo: What, Salad as in...

Carpenter: Lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes ... yes.

First Eskimo: Like you have on your plate?

Carpenter: Yes. That's right.

First Eskimo: No, I'm afraid not.

Second Eskimo: Where's our fish?

First Eskimo: What does this Teddy Salad do?

Carpenter: He's a... er... hen-teaser.

(Quick cut to the chairman of Fiat in his office.)

Chairman: Che cosa è la stucciacatori di polli?

SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: 'WHAT IS A HEN-TEASER?'

(Cut back to the cabin.)

First Eskimo: No, the only Teddy Salad we know is a CIA man.

Carpenter: Oh, he might know.

Eskimos: (chanting) Gunga gunga, where's our fish?

Carpenter: Where will I find him?

Second Eskimo: Oh, he lives up at Kipper Sound.

Carpenter: Thanks a lot.

Eskimos: Fishy fishy iyoooiyooo.

First Eskimo: Are you in international spying, too?

Carpenter: No... no... I'm with the... US Ballet... force... who are you with?

First Eskimo: (leans forward confidentialy) MI6. But not a word to the Eskimos.

Eskimos: Fishy fishy igooo.

(The Italian chef appears.)

Italian: Here's your bloody fish.

First Eskimo: Thank you, Anouk.

Italian: I'm not an Eskimo!

(Cut to Arctic wastes - ice and snow and bitter blasting winds. Carpenter - his little tadger tiny as a tapir's tits - struggles on. He stops and peers ahead He sees a trapper figure with a sled pulled by four huskies. Carpenter hurries on and catches him up.)

Carpenter: Hey! Hey!

(The man stops. On his sled are supplies including two ladies in bikinis, deep-frozen and wrapped in cellophane bags.)

Carpenter: Hi! I'm Carpenter of the US Ballet.

Trapper: Hey, great to have you around. The last decent ballet we got around here was Ballet Ramben..On Thursday they did 'Petrouchka', then on Saturday they did 'Fille Mal Gardée'. I thought it was a bit slow...

Carpenter: (stopping him short) It sure is nice to see you, Mr Salad.

Trapper: I ain't Salad.

Carpenter: What?

Trapper: You want Teddy Salad?

Carpenter: Yeah ... (the man looks around rather furtively, to see if anyone is watching, then takes Carpenter's arm and indicates the dog team) I don't see anyone.

Trapper: The one on the end, on the right. That's Salad.

Carpenter: That's a dog!

Trapper: (confidentially) No only bits of it.

Carpenter: What do you mean?

Trapper: Listen, Teddy Salad is the most brilliant agent the CIA ever had, right?

Carpenter: Right.

Trapper: That's how he made his name (indicates the dog) - disguise!

(They look at the dog in silence for a moment.)

Carpenter: That's incredible!

Trapper: He had to slim down to one and a half pounds to get into that costume. He cut eighteen inches off each arm and over three feet off each leg. The most brilliant surgeon in Europe stuck that tail on.

Carpenter: What about the head?

Trapper: All of the head was removed apart from the eyes and the brain in order to fit into the costume.

Carpenter: That's incredible!

Trapper: D'you want to talk to him?

Carpenter: Yeah, sure.

Trapper: (looking around him again) OK, let's move over to those trees over there... anyone might be watching.

(They pull over to a lone deciduous tree in the middle of the empty tundra wastes. They pull in. The man goes round to the dog and kneels down beside it.)

Trapper: (softly) Mr Salad? ... There's Mr Carpenter to see you.

Carpenter: What does he say?

Trapper: (to Carpenter) Do you have a bone? (Carpenter feels rather helplessly in his pockets) It's all part of the disguise (he produces a bone, which he gives to the dog) OK, Teddy... here's the bone. (the dog tucks into the bone) All right, you've got his trust, now, you can talk to him.

Carpenter: (kneeling rather awkwardly down beside the dog, and speaking confidentially) Sir ... sir ... Mr Salad ... sir, I've come direct from the Commander of Land, Sea and Air Forces ... There's a pretty dangerous situation, sir. Mr Neutron... is missing. (he looks significantly at the dog, but the dog doesn't react) The General says you're the only one who'll know where to find him ... What's he say?

Trapper: He wants to go walkies.

Carpenter: Walkies?

Trapper: Yeah, he's right into it today - d'you mind taking him for walkies?

(He gives the dog to Carpenter on a lead. Carpenter hesitates and then walks off with the dog, bending down occasionally and explaining the situation.)

Voice Over: While Carpenter took the most brilliant agent the CIA ever had for walkies, events in the world's capitals were moving fast!

Part 4


Mr. Neutron is Still Missing

(Sketch continues from 'Teddy Salad [CIA Agent]'......Cut to a picture of the outside of l0 Downing Street. Zoom in on the door. Music: 'Rule Britannia' type theme. Cut to interior - a few circular tables, dim lighting. The decor of a rather exclusive restaurant. Subdued murmur of upper-class people stuffing their faces. A gypsy violinist is going from table to table playing and singing. In the middle of all this there is the prime minister at a big leather-topped desk, covered with official papers, three telephones, an intercom, tape recorder, a photo of Eisenhower with a very small bunch of flowers in front of it in a sort of self-contained shrine, an in/out tray, blotter, etc. The intercom buzzes.)

Voice: The Secretary of State to see you, Prime Minister.

Prime Minister: Very well, show him in.

(The prime minister switches off. The secretary of state enters, wending his way through the tables. He sits at the desk. He is in a rather agitated condition.)

Secretary of State: Prime Minister.

Prime Minister: Do take a seat.

(He takes a seat from the next table; the lady sitting on it falls to the floor.)

Secretary of State: Prime Minister, we've just had the Supreme Commander US Forces on the phone. Apparently they want a full-scale Red Alert!

Prime Minister: They what?

(The gypsy violinist has come round to the desk. He is playing a sad, slow melody and smiling encouragingly at them. They glance at him. He flashes a white smile. The secretary of state drops his voice and huddles closer to the prime minister.)

Secretary of State: They want a full-scale Red Alert - every troop movement...

(As the secretary leans forward so does the gypsy, musing the secretary to break off in mid-sentence.)

Prime Minister: It's all right - don't worry about Giuseppe... (the secretary looks at the gypsy who smiles again toothily) He's English really.

Secretary of State: Well apparently the whole structure of world peace may be threatened unless we immediately...

Giuseppe: (heavy accent, leaning forwards) Your anniversary, signore?

Prime Minister: No, no, Giuseppe - not now.

Giuseppe: (indicating the secretary of state) You mean zis isn't ze lady?

Prime Minister: No.

Giuseppe: Oh, signora ... my mistake! I play for you 'My Mistake'. (before the prime minister can stop him he goes into a strident Italian song) 'My mistake, I have made my mistake! What a dreadful mistake! Is this mistake that I make!' (strums violently and starts on the second verse) 'Oh my mistake...'

Prime Minister: Giuseppe, do you mind playing over there.

Giuseppe: (flashing a winning smile) Very well, signor. But I play only for you... and your beautiful companion.

(He moves off mysteriously, singing the mistake song.)

Secretary of State: Well anyway, this Mr Neutron, is located somewhere in the London area. We must find and exterminate him. The Americans say if we don't, they will.

Prime Minister: (straining to hear over noise of singing) What?

Secretary of State: The Americans say if we won't they will!

Prime Minister: That he doesn't know what?

Secretary of State: They'll bomb the entire London area.

Prime Minister: (getting up) We'd better get out of here!... (he grabs the photo of Eisenhower)

Secretary of State: They won't bomb here.

Prime Minister: Are you sure?

Secretary of State: Sure.

Prime Minister: (sitting down with great relief) Right. When are they going to start?

Secretary of State: Well apparently they haven't got Neutron yet... but when they do...

(The diners have by this time joined a conga led by the gypsy violinist playing Wly Mistake'. Awfully heartily they dance past the prime minister's desk. Cut to Artic wastes. The wind howls. The trapper is sitting beside a fire, picking his nose thoughtfully and tending a stewpan. The dog bounds back, Carpenter on the end of his lead, breathless from trying to keep up.)

Trapper: Well. Did he tell you anything?

Carpenter: (worn out by the walk) No ... we chased sticks ... we chased a few reindeer...

Trapper: (patting the dog) You been chasing reindeer, have you? You're a naughty boy... yes... ain't you a naughty boy...

Carpenter: Look, we haven't got much time ... He hasn't given me any information yet...

Trapper: OK. Tell you what, let's eat. You give him one of your meatballs, he'll tell you anything... OK?

Carpenter: OK.

(Suddenly the dog woofs, gets up on back legs and starts pawing the trapper.)

Trapper: Wait a minute - he's trying to tell us something.

(A strangled, strained American voice comes from within the dog. Slightly muffled perhaps.)

Dog: Carpenter ... er ... ugh ... ah...Carpenter...

Carpenter: (kneeling down and peering into the dog's face) Yes, Mr Salad? Can you hear me?

Dog: Yes... yes... it's just it's so goddam painful in here... what's the problem?

Carpenter: It's Mr Neutron, sir ... he's gone missing. The Supreme Commander wants you to take charge.

Dog: I ... oh God ... I ... I ... I...

Carpenter: Yes, Mr Salad?

Dog: I gotta go walkies again.

(Cut to the office of the supreme commander. He is now nude behind his desk. A kidney bowl full of water is on desk; he is dabbing at himself with a sponge. The intercom buzzes. He switches it on.)

Voice: Still no sign of Captain Carpenter, sir... or Mr Neutron.

Commander: OK. We'll bomb Neutron out. Get me Moscow! Peking! and Shanklin, Isle of Wight!

(Cut to stock film of B52s on a bombing raid.)

Voice Over: And so the Great Powers and the people of Shanklin, Isle of Wight, drew their net in ever-tightening circles around the most dangerous threat to peace the world has ever faced. They bombed Cairo, Bangkok, Cape Town, Buenos Aires, Harrow, Hammersmith, Stephey, Wandsworth and Enfield... But always it was the wrong place.

(Cut to an area of smoking rubble. A van with the words 'US Air Force' on the side trundles through the rubble. It has a loudspeaker on the top of it.)

Loudspeaker: Sorry Enfield!... We apologize for any inconvenience caused by our bombing... sorry...

Voice Over: But what of Mr Neutron, the most fearfully dangerous man in the world! The man who could destroy entire galaxies with his wrist, the man who could tear fruit machines apart with his eyeballs... He had not been idle!

Part 5


Mr. Neutron is Found

Sketch continues from 'Mr Neutron is still missing'.......... Meantime we have mixed through to Neutron's suburban sitting room. He is standing in the doorway gazing at something off camera. He holds an envelope which he has just opened and a letter.)

Voice Over: In fact he had fallen in love... with the lady who 'does' for Mrs Entrail... (The camera pans across to a slovenly char in paisley apron, furry slippers and head scarf Throughout this scene we hear the sound of bombers and the distant mulled sound of explosions.)

Mrs Scum: Oh 'ello Mr N, terrible about Enfield, innit? It's all gone. So's Staines ... lovely shops they used to have in Staines... and Stunmore, where the AA offices used to be. I don't know where we'll pay our AA subscriptions to now. Do you know where we'll have to pay our AA. subscriptions to now, Mr N?

Mr Neutron: I didn't know you were a member of the AA Mrs S.C.U.M.

Mrs Scum: Oh yes. Ever since the Corsair broke down in Leyonstone ... they towed it all the way to Deauville FOC. (Mr Neutron looks blank) Free of Charge. Well my husband Ken, K.E.N., he said...

Mr Neutron: Oh, forget about your husband, Mrs S.C.U.M. - or may I call you Mrs S?

Mrs Scum: You can call me Linda, if you like.

Mr Neutron: No, I'd rather call you Mrs S.

Mrs Scum: Oh...

Mr Neutron: (as if trying to soften the blow) And you can call me Mr N.

Mrs Scum: Well... that's what I was calling you.

Mr Neutron: Mrs S, there is something I have to tell you...

Mrs Scum: Yes, Mr N?

Mr Neutron: I have just won a Kellogg's Corn Flake Competition.

Mrs Scum: Oh Mr N! That's wonderful!

Mr Neutron: I got the ball in exactly the right place. The prize is £5,000 in cash, or as much ice cream as you can eat.

(Her eyes go round as saucers and all thoughts of returning to her marital bed vanish under the impact of such imminent wealth.)

Mrs Scum: £5,000!

Mr Neutron: I was thinking of taking the ice cream.

Mrs Scum: (alarmed) Oh no!

Mr Neutron: It's been so hot recently.

Mrs Scum: You couldn't eat that much ice cream Mr N.

Mr Neutron: Mrs S, I can eat enormous quantifies of ice cream without being sick.

Mrs Scum: Oh no! Take the £5,000! Please take the £5,000.

Mr Neutron: I was thinking. If we got married...

Mrs Scum: Oh yes! (she sits very close to him)

Mr Neutron: We could use the £5,000 to buy a spoon...

Mrs Scum: Oh! We could buy a lot more than that!

Mr Neutron: And then fill up with ice cream.

Mrs Scum: Not Forget about the ice cream. We need the money.

Mr Neutron: We need nothing. For there is something I have not told you Mrs S.C.U.M.

Mrs Scum: Oh please call me Mrs S.

Mr Neutron: No I would rather go back to calling you Mrs S.C.U.M., Mrs S.C.U.M. I am the most powerful man in the universe. There is nothing I cannot do.

Mrs Scum: Oh Mr N.

Mr Neutron: I want you to be my helpmate. As Tarzan had his Jane, as Napoleon had his Josephine, as Frankie Laine had whoever he had, I want you to help me in my plan to dominate the world!

Mrs Scum: Oh Mr N. That I should be so lucky!

Mr Neutron: You're not Jewish are you?

(Cut back to the Yukon. The trapper, Captain Carpenter and the dog are still sitting round the dying campfire aver the remains of supper. They are all looking a little bit bored. The dog has obviously been telling long reminiscences.)

Dog: Another time when I was in Cairo, I was disguised as a water hydrant. The whole top part of my head had been removed and...

Carpenter: Please, Mr Salad .... you must tell us where Neutron is.

Dog: And I functioned! D'you hear? I really worked. I could put out a fire.

Carpenter: Please, Mr Salad...

Dog: Mind you, it hurt a bit...

Carpenter: Please, Mr Salad - there isn't much time. Where will we find Neutron?

Dog: OK. Give me another meatball and I'll tell you.

(Carpenter grabs a meatball and throws it down for the dog. The dog wolfs it. Carpenter and Trapper exchange glances. Carpenter bends nearer the dog. The dog finishes the meatball with much slurping. Carpenter crouches beside him patiently.)

Dog: OK listen carefully... I won't repeat this. You understand?

Carpenter: Yes yes - quick.

Dog: I know where Neutron is right now. I know the exact address and the exact house and the exact road...

Carpenter: OK where is he?

Dog: He's not in America...

Carpenter: No?

Dog: He's not in... Asia!

Carpenter: No?

Dog: He's not in.., Australia!

Carpenter: No?

Dog: He's in... Europe!

Carpenter: Yeah?

Dog: And you wanna know where in Europe?

Carpenter: Yeah!

Dog: OK. OK, I'll tell you. He's in England... In London... at Number 19...

(A sudden explosion completely engulfs them. Cut to the supreme commander's offce. He is still nude and has an enormous display of talcs and powders on his desk. He is talkng to the intercom.)

Commander: OK. That's the Yukon - what's left?

Voice Only: Ruislip, the Gobi Desert, and your office, sir.

Commander: OK! Let's start with my office. (a big explosion)

(Cut to the Gobi Desert. Sweltering heat. We come onto a group opening a GPO box. There is a line of boxes stretching into the distance asfaras the eye can see. Arabic is being spoken by the GPO official.)

GPO Official: Ankwat i odr inkerat Gobi Desert Ulverston Road...

SUBTITLE: 'THIS NEW BOX COMPLETES THE ENCIRCLEMENT OF THE GOBI DESERT'

GPO Official: Ik artwar, hyaddin... (etc.)

SUBTITLE; 'THE POST OFFICE IS NOW IN A POSITION TO ACHIEVE COMPLETE WORLD DOMINATION'

(A terrific explosion. Cut to Neutron and Mrs Scum.)

Mr Neutron: I will take you away from all this Mrs S.C.U.M.

Mrs Scum: Oh, Mr N... I'd follow you anywhere.

Mr Neutron: We will have two weeks in Benidorm.

Mrs Scum: Oh yes ... yes.

Mr Neutron: And I will make you the most beautiful woman in the world.

(He stretches out his hands towards her. His piercing eyes narrow in concentration. There is a flash, a jump cut, and Mrs S stands before him as dumpy and unattractive as ever, but in a brand new C & A twin set and pearls, a nice new handbag, and a rather fussy hat.)

Mrs Scum: Oh... it's beautiful... oh, Mr N, you have made my heart sing... (quick cut to stock film of bomber then back to Mrs Scum) Late in life's pageant it may be ... but you have made roses bloom anew for me... (quick flash of bomber then back to Mrs Scum) Life's rich harvest is being...

Mr Neutron: Shut up, Mrs S. We must hurry...

(He takes her hand and pulls her away.)

Mrs Scum: I'd better leave a note for Ken... he'll be expecting us...

(explosion)

(ANIMATION: the world destroyed and burning.)

Voice Over: Has Mr Neutron escaped in time? Is the world utterly destroyed? How can Mr Neutron and his child bride survive? Will his mighty powers be of any avail against the holocaust? Stay tuned to this channel.

(Cut to a man in a grey suit in a studio.)

Man: Hello. Well in fact what happens is that they are saved by Mr Neutron's mighty powers just as the last bomb falls on Ruislip.

SUPERIMPOSED CAPTION: 'A MAN FROM THE "RADIO TIMES"'

Man: However, the Earth has been blown off its axis, and in a most dramatic and dangerous and expensive sequence, it spins off into space. There are appallingly expensive scenes of devastation and horror and the final incredibly expensive climax is reached as thousands of ape monsters in very expensive costumes descend from the sky onto these, plug up a whole city which has to be specially built and fling them all into the sea very expensively. And we can see those very expensive scenes right now. (the credits start on his TV set) Just after the credits have gone through... incidentally, these are going to be the most expensive and lavish scenes ever filmed by the BBC in conjunction with Time-Life of course ... these are some of the technical people who have been involved in filming these very expensive scenes, expensive sound, expensive visual effects there, expensive production assistant, expensive designer... cheap director. Well you can see those expensive scenes right now.

CAPTION: 'THE END'