Updated on 05/22/2022, 17:20
Maybe the angry citizen who pays fees or the other offended screenwriter sees it differently, but ARD is not a mafia association. Nevertheless, “The girl who goes home alone” is of course highly symbolic: It is the last Berlin “crime scene” with Meret Becker, who announced her departure as Commissioner Nina Rubin. And it’s about a young woman who wants to get out of the Russian mafia.
So two women who want to walk into the sunset all alone – symbolically, of course, as I said. Nothing is spoiled here. Even if after half an hour of “crime scene” even the most insensitive viewer should suspect that the episode will not end at the farewell party with “Finally pension!” party hats.
The screenplay by Günter Schütter (who also wrote the legendary “Tatort: Frau Bu lacht”) and the camera and direction by Ngo The Chau make sure of that: The talking and staging is so melodramatic that you can’t help but think of “Tatort” inspectors and commissioners wish for a term limit.
If the end of service is clear from the outset, the last few cases would not have to be hectically pumped up with meaning like animal balloons at the fair whose friendly face has been distorted into a ridiculous grimace by too much helium. When such balloons disappear into the sky, one or the other sensitive child might burst into tears. But everyone else finds the matter rather funny.
Murder investigations embedded in loneliness aesthetics
“The girl who goes home alone” starts out very down-to-earth: A headless corpse swims in the Spree. Robert Karow (Mark Waschke) tries to find out which head she belongs to with his usual reasonable methods of forensics. Colleague Nina Rubin, on the other hand, is confidently whispered the resolution: Julie (ex-“Miss Germany” Bella Dayne) is the young, beautiful wife of Yasha (Oleg Tikhomirov). He, in turn, is the crown prince of the Bolshakov mafia clan.
Julie knows from mafia circles that Nina is considered outrageously incorruptible. So she follows her on her high heels at night as conspicuously as possible and asks for help: she can’t stand it any longer with Yasha. Especially since she saw him murder a police informant – said river corpse. In order to be placed in a witness protection program, she is willing to incriminate the clan.
From then on, Julie will look scared and make an amazingly stupid choice of clothes (high heels, tight skirts, bright white blouses) for a desperate fugitive. But this “crime scene” is not about logic – it’s about an emotionally highly charged and dramatic, but still beautiful farewell for Nina Rubin.
So Nina throws herself passionately into Operation Julie. From the very first moment, the two share a deep affection. Of course, this could be due to Nina Rubin’s maternal big heart and protective instinct. Only the affection is illustrated in a rather unmotherly way: the two meet in the dim red of a lesbian bar, they dance and they kiss, and even in the greatest danger they hold hands.
Plus, it’s always night, so the lost souls of the newly minted best friends can be captured in the appropriate big-city loneliness aesthetic.
For ten years, Anna Schudt stood in front of the camera as commissioner “Martina Boenisch” for the “crime scene”. Now she has left crime fiction. There is a specific reason behind this. (Image credit: imago images/Future Image/) © ProSiebenSat.1
A screenplay as meaningful as a milestone
And the dialogues! Every logistical preparatory meeting is lathered with self-therapy verbiage: “Now I long for the time and hope.” – “Hope doesn’t suit me, I have no talent for happiness.” So it’s no longer surprising why Julie is called “Schülie” and not just Julia. Or Sabine.
Because it’s more about drama than crime. And with it – quite meta – about the soul mates of two women who are more (Julie Bolshakov) or less (Nina Rubin) courageously willing to exchange freedom for security (in the bosom of the mafia or the “crime scene”). Then again, logistical preparatory meetings are only the disturbing ground of crime stories, onto which poetic love murmurs can only tumble down in an embarrassingly touching way.
Speaking of which: for a decent farewell crescendo, the temperature of the relationship between Nina Rubin and Robert Karow, which is actually so cool, has to be raised like a pressure cooker. But that’s really the least problem of this “crime scene”. Meret Becker and Mark Waschke are too effortless actors and their characters too complex to be crushed by a meaningful screenplay.
Despite everything, it is therefore sad that Robert Karow is now a man who goes home alone (before Corinna Harfouch becomes the new Berlin “Tatort” inspector). In the next case, he first investigates solo – and hopefully very top-heavy.