Stuttgart “Tatort”: No “Tatort” season has ever ended in such a state of drowsiness

2023-06-18 10:52:22

Culture So was the Sunday evening thriller

No “crime scene” season has ever ended in such a state of drowsiness

Status: 08:23 | Reading time: 4 minutes

Richy Müller is happy

Source: SWR/Christian Koch

Richy Müller has never stared so long, so stupidly into a camera. As Commissioner Lannert, he watches bubbles in lava lamps and confesses his love to his “Tatort” colleague Bootz. “The Night of the Commissioners” is a crime comedy. That’s otherwise only in Münster. Stuttgart is better.

Stuttgart, when VfB’s stay in the Bundesliga is not committed and drunk or some party-goers are rampaging through the pedestrian zone late in the evening, is considered a fairly sober and orderly community.

The “crime scene”, which proves once again its fundamental powerlessness in changing prejudices and images, has made such an effort, especially since the passing of the Bienzle, the grunt monster in the Stuttgart “crime scene” murder commission, the rather built-up and winding Neckar metropolis to establish itself as a center for lies and fraud.

Inhabited by people who entangle themselves in the threads of their falsehood until they gradually suffocate. They could do it alone. The fact that there are two inspectors Lannert (Richy Müller) and Bootz (Felix Klare) only speeds things up, there’s only ninety minutes left on every damn Sunday.

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Wolfgang Stauch, the screenwriter, explains how “The Night of the Commissars” came about – the 30th time that Lannert and Bootz are allowed to bang from one suspect to the other in the wonderfully filthy brown Porsche Targa – to this completely stoned story , who came up with it, so that at some point the word “crime comedy” came to mind. Psychogenic drugs should not have been involved. You don’t need to worry about that, even for your craziest books.

The funny thing about the “Night of the Commissioners” is not the story of Boris Kellermann. He’s dead. Lying in the water, actually, says the pathologist, who walks through the night like another Woody Allen with Bootz and Lannert, actually more of a hydrocephalus. There is nothing more than the head.

Something like a big, a very big dog must have bitten him. You can already hear the Baskerville mutt howling through the streets of Killesberg. But it turns out differently.

There is a commissioner on the roof: Sebastian Bootz (Felix Klare), the pathologist Daniel Vogt (Jürgen Hartmann) and Commissioner Lannert (Richy Müller)

Source: SWR/Christian Koch

Lannert, once again one step ahead of his colleague, sends pictures that look like he’s in a slaughterhouse. A crime scene. He is found in Kellermann’s establishment, where normally the sober, bureaucratically tense Stuttgarter can really relax. He’s called “The Wild Man”, which again is very much in contrast to the Stuttgart cliché, but whatever.

In any case, Lannert – he no longer wears shoes – seems as if he has consumed a few horns too much of a rather psychogenic magic potion from the witches’ kitchen of the Miraculix. It’s been so long that Richy Müller, so much can be revealed, has never grinned so stupidly into the camera. And he does it with pleasure. The scene alone, in which he struts behind the bubbles of a lava lamp, is worth turning on.

But the story goes on. Kellermann’s surviving colleagues are playing a nasty game. The Bechtle couple, pig farmers and turkey breeders on the jump from agriculture, are there, they sense quick money and have a rather daring business idea. And then there is a Chinese Pinte called “The Golden Tiger”, where you would never order number 34f (sweet and sour duck) for fear of being eaten by the food yourself.

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This is how the Stuttgart “crime scene” becomes

It’s about pressure cookers and quick money. The women are tough. The men would not even light up a minimal cake as a candle. And in between Lannert. Who babbles around, asks stupid questions, plays the children’s birthday horn. And Bootz lets the Porsche drive for the first time. He lets him drive the Porsche! The poop brown Targa. You get really jealous.

Appropriately Coenesque it is. Not for a second does Shirel Peleg succumb to the temptation to wrap the story in stoned imagery. Because that always goes wrong. That’s never funny. It’s already “The Night of the Commissioners”.

And with that, we say goodbye to an overall respectable “Tatort” season. And us on the summer break. Let’s start with the murder and manslaughter stories on August 27th. Have a nice summer!