Drugs, prostitution, humiliation, impoverishment.

The dying of fixers who have barely grown up next to dirty toilets in the train station toilets.

It should be authentic.

Dirty cinema.

Educational, but without a moral index finger.

Loosely twisted, loosely played and cut.

Little more than greenish light penetrated the drug duct through which Christiane fell.

Nothing was nice.

Nothing was spared.

The children you saw were really children (Natja Brunckhorst was 14 when “Christiane F.” was filmed). How their faces deteriorated in the two hours, never let go of you. And always and everywhere David Bowie sang.