Deutschland. Ein Sommermärchen

Went to see the documentary film about the German soccer national team playing in the world cup this past summer, "Deutschland. Ein Sommermärchen" (Germany. A Tale of Summer).

Well, at 110 minutes it is waaaay too long (although my 4 male companions, all of whom spent the summer watching the World Cup together in various combinations noted that a real game can take 120 minutes plus penalty kicks). I mean, the locker room scenes are great (some slightly racy pictures, but nothing a gal really wants to look at...), but they tend to be the same old stuff.

And I don't really understand Jürgen Klinsman's Swabian accent, although when I see his swank digs in California, I understand why he didn't accept the offer to continue training the national team. I mean, a palace on the beach, you pretty much can't top that.

It is interesting to see more of the personalities of the players. Jens Lehmann comes across much more sympathetic than he does on the field (and he held "the note" into the camera for us all to see). Schweinsteiger seems to be the joker of the team, and Asamoah is really the life of the team. Some players can even speak complete sentences that make sense, while others, Abitur notwithstanding, can just barely make themselves understood.

The film makes clear what an awful lot of organization goes into getting the team on the field - I mean, the laundry and food and shoe service alone is mind boggling. The meeting with the FIFA where they have to show examples of their uniforms confirms my suspicions that this is a bunch of old guys making up silly rules just to feel important.

The drug control scene is really funny, I didn't realize that someone goes into the toilet cabin with the sportsman. What a job - and what an invasion of privacy.

Which pretty much sums up the film: we are voyeurs in the locker room. 90 minutes would have sufficed for the film.

Angela Merkel surprises (playing herself, as everyone does) with her pep talk and all her English sayings. And I would have preferred to have subtitles - on the field the players have their names on their backs, so I can tell who is who. Okay, Klose and Ballack and Schweinsteiger I can tell, and Torsten Frings is easy to find in the locker room with his tatoos and long hair.

54, 74, 90, 2010!

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