“There have only been two geniuses in Germany since the war, Fassbinder in the West and Schleef in the East,” remarked Elfriede Jelinek. When Einar Schleef died far too early in 2001 at the age of 57, he was alone, with the public only finding out about his death days later. How is it possible that this painter, author and pioneer of German theatre direction in the East, later in the West and finally in the reunified Germany – at once recognised and unappreciated, celebrated and misjudged, resolute and misunderstood – remained such a perpetual outsider? The elliptically edited archive material lets Schleef have his own say above all – mercurial, stuttering, unflinching. Sandra Prechtel’s film carefully avoids glorifying or co-opting this 20<sup>th</sup> century artist, who refused any sort of mass psychology and pushed theatre to its outer reaches. By highlighting different biographical elements, this portrait of a combative, yet vulnerable loner and enfant terrible with self-destructive potential is gradually pieced together. It is an account of theatre and the suppression mechanisms of post-war society and of the two German realities – but not as we are used to seeing them.