Duisburg as 'Standort' and 'Tatort': Urban Renewal and Structural Change Meet Inspector Schimanski

Space and Culture published online 17 October 2013 DOI: 10.1177/1206331213499472

Duisburg as Standort and Tatort: Urban Renewal and Structural Change Meet Inspector Schimanski Kaisa Schmidt-Thomé and Vivi Niemenmaa Abstract Duisburg typifies those cities once dependent on heavy industry but now undergoing a prolonged period of structural change. A number of large-scale urban redevelopment projects have already been launched with a view to fostering this change and to rebranding Duisburg as a postindustrial location (“Standort”). Light is shed on this planning process by showing Duisburg as a crime scene (“Tatort”) and thereby depicting the city as the home of fictional police inspector, Horst Schimanski. Since the introductory TV episode was first aired, in 1981, the character has had a significant impact on the city’s public image. Our parallel study of branding efforts and filmmaking shows how the selected backdrops and the social conscience of the fictional hero problematize both the speed and the course of structural change. The public debate surrounding Schimanski is indicative of the rather one-dimensional nature of urban development efforts in Duisburg. Keywords structural change, branding, crime films, Schimanski, Duisburg City governments generally have only a limited ability to influence processes of economic change such as the current shifts which are moving production ever further away from the birthplaces of early industrialization. Those European cities that have traditionally been dependent on heavy industry are particularly susceptible to the risk of deindustrialization in this respect, as they often fall short in terms of the “trump cards” of competitive advantage (cf. Porter, 2004) or critical location factors (Hospers, 2003; Rogerson, 1999). Such cities lack, for example, the knowledge intensity of production, a diverse, both globally and locally well-connected business environment, and access to high-quality urban living environments. For the sake of the competition imperative (e.g., Savitch & Kantor, 2002; Storper, 2010) cities take action and try to attract investments to fill the gap left by declining or contracting industries. This is one reason why large-scale urban development projects have been initiated in cities and regions in the search for growth and restructuring (Swyngedouw, Moulaert, & Rodriguez, 2002). In parallel with these sometimes massive redevelopment projects, some cities have invested extensively in marketing and branding—often to a degree that is little short of the reinvention of the locality (see, e.g., Gertner & Kotler, 2004; Parkerson & Saunders, 2005). Some have asked if we are witnessing a fundamental transformation of urban economies or whether the significance of the change has been exaggerated in order to legitimate certain policy approaches (Boland, 2007, cf. Ward, 1998, pp. 27-28). The Ruhr region in Germany is an illustrative, although somewhat obvious, showcase for structural change in progress (Boldt & Gelhar, 2010; Eltges, 2008), as well as of the possible role of strategic projects in bringing forth socioeconomic change (Fachgebiet Städtebau, Stadtgestaltung und Bauleitplanung TU Dortmund, 2008; Kilper, Latniak, Rehfeld, & Simonis, 1994). What is less obvious in the Ruhr region is the chance to study its development in connection with the geography of crime films produced for TV since the 1970s. The Tatort series has both conveyed impressions about the cities of German-speaking Europe and participated in shaping these impressions, by being loyal to its core concept of utilizing “local color” (Lokalkolorit) in narration. In one city, Tatort has played a role beyond compare. The Duisburg-based filming of the Tatort episodes has trained a spotlight on the city since 1981, reproducing a strong city image and, thus, participating in the discussion over structural change. We will show how the fictional police officer and crime investigator at the center of our study, Horst Schimanski, continues to trouble those trying to market Duisburg as a competitive location.

First, we will discuss structural change and the other key concepts that constitute our analytical toolkit. Then we introduce the geography of the Tatort series, leaning on recent contributions from German cultural geography (Bollhöfer, 2007; Escher, 2006) and closely related media research (Griem & Scholz, 2010). The third part introduces the reader to the Ruhr region undergoing structural change. The floor is then given to Duisburg as a “Standort” (location/position) and as a “Tatort” (crime scene). In the conclusion, the article reflects on the feasibility of studying branding efforts and film production in parallel with each other. Structural Change The conversion of an old industrial city into a center focusing predominantly on services and the knowledge economy requires time. This (economic) structural change means a change in the relative significance of the economic sectors within a certain area, often measured in terms of shares of employment and economic output in the primary, secondary, and tertiary sectors (e.g., Kowalewski & Stiller, 2009). The German word for structural change (Strukturwandel) is, however, somewhat overburdened with both mythical features and the flow of postwar history (Entwicklungsgesellschaft Zollverein, 2005, p. 43). The German “economic miracle” began to falter as the domestic industrial raw materials became less competitive. Thereafter, production units began increasingly to relocate to countries with lower labor costs. Moreover, the 1990s brought the burden of dealing with the former German Democratic Republic’s heavy industries. It seemed as if—after the pain of the 1970s and 1980s—that the process of structural change would never be complete. The “look” of the metamorphosis plays a certain role in the form of structural change. Is it visible in the cityscape? Urban renewal facilitated by private investment has generally been the means by which the eradication of telltale traces of unfashionable industrialization has been attempted. Such flagship projects and regeneration schemes are typical for cities seeking to plant new seeds of growth (e.g., Swyngedouw et al., 2002). Building well-appointed residential areas and new workspaces in office palaces and paving the way for investments in the “entertainment economy” (Hollands & Chatterton, 2003) may bring about only the veneer of economic change but they nevertheless suggest at least that some change is taking place. Such schemes are thought to add to the attractiveness of the city and to further strengthen the “positive spin” surrounding its reinvention. Urban marketing is expected to influence the impressions that are conveyed of cities as economic, residential, and recreational locations. The German word Standort incorporates this rivalry of city possessions,1 which then serve as material for marketing. Attempts to gain control of the market of impressions can also be referred to as branding, as certain city features are selected from the existing “material,” and new aspirational images are added where it is considered necessary. As Vermeulen (2002, p. 16) has noted, the branding process is often expected then to work like a self-fulfilling prophecy, bringing about the future that first had to be imag[in]ed. We suggest then that structural change, urban renewal processes (through large-scale development projects) and branding efforts are all closely connected (see the triangle in Figure 1). If we take the first two concepts as two axes of a diagram, we can break down the third concept in relation to these axes. In Figure 1, the vertical axis represents the move from an industrial to a postindustrial economic base. The horizontal axis determines whether the structural change shows in the cityscape or not—how the “phenotype” of the physical city corresponds with the structural change. The two axes produce a fourfold table which helps us to analyze both the existing urban images and the possible, desired brand. In competitive city-regionalism, as Boland (2007) has called the guiding star of local economic development, the desired brand would certainly be found in the upper right corner. A postindustrial city would have consummated the structural change of its economic base and this would correspond with physical settings that are considered appropriate for such a reinvented city. At this point the three other parts of the fourfold structure remain empty; we will, however, continue to populate the chart when analyzing the collision of Duisburg with its famous fictional citizen. Connecting branding with film production makes for several interesting parallels. First, both branding and film attempt to pick out a set of credible elements in order to make a meaningful whole. As Bollhöfer (2007, p. 224) has shown, it requires an enormous effort and a lot of artificiality

to make a city appear “real” on our TV screens. What Gámir Orueta and Manuel Valdés (2007) postulate about films remains true also for brands, namely, that they use geographical space in production in several ways, while in addition the making of the film (or brand, as we wish to add here) may have a series of effects on that space. Marketing and filmmaking face similar questions about the reality on which stories and their visualization are based, and thus about the borders between documentation, selective imagination, and pure fantasy. The central role of visuality in both branding and film production draws our attention to how the production teams understand their audiences. Both brands and films could well be seen as voluntary illusions which sometimes we choose to “buy into” while at other times we choose not to.

Figure 1. Competitive city-regionalism in the Duisburg context.

Tatort Films and the Geographic Imagination Tatort, a series of crime films produced for public TV, is a real success story across Germanspeaking Europe. On the 40th birthday of the series in November 2010 its 781st film was broadcast, adding a new team of police officers to the over 80 teams seen previously. The spreading of production teams across different parts of Germany not only reflects the federal nature of public TV, but it is also one of the key characteristics of the Tatort concept. “Lokalkolorit,” local color, has always been an important narrative element in the series. As such, the particularities of the region play a key role; the stories reflect real life without aiming to be documentaries; and each episode thus retains some individual character (Bollhöfer, 2007; Griem & Scholz, 2010, p. 15). The Tatort films form a very interesting archive for the analysis of social change, particularly as it is common that the films also show commitment and put forward a form of societal critique. The TV companies are engaged here in a kind of rivalry over good scripts and episodes and over the status of the most beloved characters. Tatort is hugely popular. On Sundays at 20:15 up to 10 million German viewers gather in front of their TVs. Strange as it may seem, it is seen as an honor for a city to serve as a “crime scene” in this context. Due to the federal “franchise” model, no particular city can be stigmatized as a crime nest, as the model spreads film production, and crime scenes, across the entire country. The federal background coupled with Germany’s traditionally strong regional identities support the Tatort concept, which in a feedback loop helps to reproduce the federal patchwork. From the outset the featured cities have been made not only recognizable but have been deliberately woven into the narrative (Bollhöfer, 2007). As Griem and Scholz (2010, p. 20) suggest, the Tatort cities are not just mere stages but collective actors/agents. Classic examples include Munich and

one of its most peculiar neighborhoods (in Episode 423 “Glockenbachgeheimnis,” 1999) and the river harbors of Duisburg (starting with Duisburg-Ruhrort in Episode 126, in 1981). In addition to using the peculiarities of the chosen areas, the nature of crimes are often contextualized geographically— for example, industrial espionage in Hamburg which takes place at a subcontractor of the Airbus factories (Episode 760, 2010). The role of the city as an agent might not be evident without the repetitive and comparative character of the Tatort series. Loyal fans in particular are rewarded by their ability to recognize many more interlinkages than occasional viewers, for whom the inferences may not be so obvious. There is clearly also the potential for rivalry here, where people hope that their local police team makes a good impression. Local newspapers it seems have given abundant advice on camera angles, and so on. According to one journalist (Wiechers 2009), the Hannover cityscape would make a brilliant picture postcard when seen from the pier of a rowing club looking toward the inner city, but hopefully in sunshine! As the new Stuttgart-based team was unveiled, the media response was equally amusing. Some said that their Stuttgart was hardly recognizable though others praised the realistic view of a rather faceless metropolitan area: “Finally Stuttgart looks like Stuttgart.”2

According to Bollhöfer (2010, pp. 32-33) there is a clear tendency to “dismount” less and less during filmmaking in the city concerned. In order to save on production costs while maintaining the tradition of “Lokalkolorit,” more stereotypical imagery with major landmarks has thus replaced the more “authentic” scenery. We would like to claim (echoing Griem & Scholz, 2010) that Tatort’s success is rooted in its ability to pander to the geographic imagination—and in the fact that pulling these strings works very well on audiences across German-speaking Europe. There is then a clear risk here in changing to the predominant use of superficial footage. The realism dilemma is thus particularly interesting in the Tatort case as the series relies on the ability of the localities used to conarrate the story. One city and one officer may be unique in this respect and this duo offers itself for thorough analysis. Horst Schimanski has fed public debate since 1981, revealing also a number of things about the urban development policies of his “home” city, Duisburg. Duisburg as “Standort” and “Tatort” Within the wider context of the process of structural change, we will now attempt to shed light on Duisburg as Standort (location/position) with regard to recent urban development and marketing. As Schimanski enters Duisburg as Tatort (crime scene), we as authors join his investigations with our own on-site observations as well as our own reinterpretations of previous media coverage. We refer in particular to certain expert interviews carried out in Duisburg in August 2010 where they complement the analysis of structural change and marketing efforts. Duisburg, in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia, is a city of approximately 500,000 inhabitants and is located on the western edge of the Ruhr region, a major industrial conurbation which grew up around coal mining and steel production (Figure 2). Reflecting the domination of heavy industry, in 1954 the city slogan was “Duisburg–Stadt Montan,” which was meant to underline its industrial and economic significance. Some 20 years later it had consciously moved to a new self-understanding in the form of the slogan “Duisburg am Rhein,” the city on the riverbank (Boldt & Gelhar, 2010), though the heavy industry sector has not completely abandoned Duisburg. Indeed, more steel is now produced in Duisburg than in any other city in Europe. Nevertheless, the new slogan clearly reflects Duisburg’s favorable location, at the confluence of two rivers, and the fact that its harbor is currently the largest inland port in the world. The city’s new profile as a logistics node in this respect has generally been seen as successful (Boldt & Gelhar, 2010). However, “Duisburg am Rhein” can also be interpreted as an attempt by the city to turn its back on the rest of the Ruhr region and on its association with the coal and steel industries. As Horst Schimanski first enters the Tatort, in 1981, Duisburg is a landscape which remains steeped in the historical legacy of heavy industrialization. Schimanski’s first appearance in the Tatort series is one of the milestones in Tatort history. The program is consistent with the broader shift identified in “TV research” (e.g., Casetti & Odin, 1990) over how TV has changed from a form of top-down communication into a medium of mutuality. The introduction of the Schimanski character saw a major departure from previous plotlines in that the personality of the main figure was brought to the forefront on the cost of the crime story. In the Duisburg case this was revolutionary

as the featured investigator did not quite fulfill the accepted “heroic” criteria: waking up in a messy apartment with a hangover, jumping into somewhat proletarian clothes and leaving for the street to throw swearwords at acquaintances, most of whom are prone to misbehavior themselves. A mass of complaints blocked the telephones at the public TV broadcasting company (WDR, Westdeutsche Rundfunk) on the night of the premiere, and the press followed with commentaries about the officer who seemed to be something of a criminal himself. Others, however, soon recognized that it is exactly this kind of edgy, “problematic” figure that had been missing from the series. That this downbeat character would eventually emerge as the most famous Tatort-investigator of all time,3 was certainly not something that the team behind Schimanski expected (Pieper, 2009). Schimanski featured in 29 Tatort episodes between 1981 and 1991, while also subsequently appearing in a further 16 episodes of the standalone Schimanski series, launched in 1997, where he still puts in an occasional appearance to lend a hand in cases relating to particularly heinous crimes.

Figure 2. Arttu Paarlahti, Ruhr region, 2011. Source: Image courtesy of artist. The most famous citizen of Duisburg is thus a fictional character called Horst Schimanski, played by actor Götz George. Despite the initial protests, his gruff exterior, combined with a warm heart and a straight-talking attitude, has long since become widely accepted. Analysts claim that Schimanski ranks among the strongest identification figures of the Ruhr region (“Helden. Von der Sehnsucht nach dem Besonderen,” 2010) arguing also that there is simply no bypassing Schimanski if one wishes to analyze the imagery of the Ruhr region (Prossek, 2009). However, Duisburg continues, at least partially, to be troubled by its famous cop, as Schimanski undoubtedly comes coupled with a certain kind of scenery. The “Lokalkolorit” of Duisburg is relayed via footage of shabby harbor areas and old docklands, or via searching views with industrial landmarks in the background. Returning to the actual Standort and its relation to urban planning and marketing, it took a new approach, namely, the creation of the IBA Emscher Park (Internationale Bauaustellung, a “building exhibition” referring back to a long series of German urban renewal projects) launched in the Ruhr region in 1989 for a period of 10 years. This project has been groundbreaking in many respects, introducing activities related to large-scale conversion and landscaping projects, new housing areas and the renovation of the existing housing stock, as well as the creation of technology centers. Many projects including the restoration of the riverbed will, moreover, continue for decades to come.

The city of Duisburg has, in addition, worked very much in the spirit of the IBA within its own borders. The IBA project contributed to the discovery of the potential possessed by the inner harbor (Innenhafen) turning a former grain-handling harbor effectively into the city’s new business card representing the desire to promote economic growth with the help of the new housing and office developments, coupled with the newly created recreational opportunities along the waterfront. 4 However, as Boldt and Gelhar (2010) have claimed, in Duisburg the key weaknesses of the model are the overall level of economic distress as well as the lack of affluent residents. The flagship urban redevelopment projects (typically designed by world-renowned architects) might make it into the spotlight, but there is then good reason to ask whether the major development projects on one side of the city mean the persistence of derelict neighborhoods on the other. In the context of shrinking cities (Pallagst, 2010) one has to ask, from where will these bright new projects get their “well-heeled” new residents? This basic economic reality continues to present a significant challenge particularly to those who want to be the postindustrial phoenixes of their region. Meanwhile, the new episodes of Schimanski in the crime geography of Tatort were annoying some. In 1999, the episode “Rat Nest” featuring waifs, junkies, rats, and burning waste containers made local politicians mad. Indeed, the city went so far as demanding that the line “We thank the City of Duisburg for its friendly support” removed from the screen credits. This pattern was repeated in 2008 when local politicians (from the conservative CDU party) bombarded the broadcasting company (WDR) with angry e-mails even before shooting of the actual episode began. The trigger was the press release that referred to Rheinhausen as a neighborhood threatened by stagnation, despite the fact that Rheinhausen now houses Logport, one of the main success stories of contemporary Duisburg focusing on the logistics sector. When finally broadcast, the episode also drew on archive material about the closure of the Krupp steelworks in Rheinhausen, as well as the preceding strikes and bridge blockades, making a very clear reference to both the “real” past of the district and to the collective memory of industrial action5 in the Ruhr region, effectively pointing out that Schimanski is not a nuisance but rather a defender of his region against all evils. In the Standort, Duisburg had a role in the “Ruhr.2010” program where the Ruhr region acted as the European cultural capital for a year. According to Butzin and Noll (2010) the capital of culture concentrated on events and the highlights of the industrial era’s built heritage, targeted mainly at the middle class, while sidelining social cohesion considerations. This profile is clear also in the material produced for 2010, for Duisburg as “culture harbour”: “The gentrified inner harbour, directly adjacent to the largest inland harbour in Europe, captivates visitors both with the fantastic architectural highlights along the harbour promenade and with spectacular exhibitions.” 6 Many would not recognize Duisburg behind the above-mentioned slogans, as other landscapes and social concerns (including traces of the Love Parade tragedy7) tend to be superimposed on them. Huge brownfield sites and derelict industrial areas remain prevalent across the cityscape as only a relatively small part of the city’s former industrial areas have found new uses. The city’s unemployment rate is relatively high—indeed twice as high as the German average—and peaks in certain neighborhoods. Inhabitants with an immigrant background are particularly vulnerable here and correspond to roughly a third of the city’s population. Inspired by the Tatort, we paid a visit to the city’s tourist office in August 2010, in the midst of the cultural capital activities, and asked for hints in tracing Schimanski’s Duisburg. The tourist office however had nothing to offer. A further question about why this was so provided a direct answer by the employee: Schimanski gives the city a “bad” name and is inaccurate. Schimanski’s Duisburg would also be “outdated/obsolete” while admitting that while “it once existed” it now “no longer does.” In our view, 2010 could have offered a rather relaxed setting to, somehow, let Schimanski in. But it was simply not to be. The inspector remains unexploited even in contexts where his deliberate exclusion is palpable. Among the official Ruhr 2010 events was a series of readings concentrating on regional crime stories, but this “Mord am Hellweg” was predetermined to include only the written word, that is, crime novels. Neither did Schimanski make it to the compilation of films paying tribute to the “working heroes” of the Ruhr region, nor to open air cinema series titled, “One film, one locality.” The character is thus only allowed to enter stages specifically associated with the history of Duisburg: in the City Museum Schimanski’s famous jacket is on display. During the period of our visit (September 21, 2010) the jacket had been loaned out to the industrial museum at the old Henrichshütte Ironworks. Their exhibition catalogue on the heroes of the Western world is about the only place where we have encountered

Schimanski as a “new kind of hero of everyday existence” (“Helden. Von der Sehnsucht nach dem Besonderen,” 2010). It comes as no surprise then that Hattingen is not a part of Duisburg but is an entirely different municipality. When analyzing the contents of the most recent Schimanski films (those produced in the context of the independent Schimanski series), one more reason for silencing the figure seems to emerge. The inspector is increasingly the one calling for social justice in the modern world, the crookedness of which he understands less and less. If Schimanski was at first shocking only gradually then to become a sympathetic Ruhr region “mate,” he must now be seen in the context of the structural change going on around him. In the 1980s and 1990s he stood by the miners who defended their jobs, but now it is rather the dropouts of the increasingly complex postindustrial economy that receive his protection. This is the subject to which we will now turn. Breaking Down the Debate It is possible to relate the framework presented earlier (Figure 1) to Duisburg’s relationship with Schimanski. It is obvious that the desired brand of Duisburg, which found its place in the upper right corner, has little room for Schimanski’s world. What about the other three fields of the fourfold framework (Figure 3)? The antipode of the desired brand, according to which Duisburg would still be an industrial city dominated by chimney stacks and working-class neighborhoods (lower left corner), hardly fits with the “competitive edge” presumed necessary. It is cold comfort for Duisburg that the production team of Schimanski-Tatort praises the Duisburg scenery as unique in Germany: for the director Hajo Gies8 Duisburg is visually the most attractive city of the Ruhr region. Götz George also underlines the optical qualities, the harbor in particular: “We were not in some Bad9 Duisburg but in the largest river harbour in the world.” Although these industrial areas and harbors gradually find new uses, there are still plenty of suitable stages for Schimanski episodes to be found in Duisburg. The most recent episode (broadcast January 30, 2011) was played out in a typical setting for Schimanski, in the neighborhood called Bruckhausen. It is one of the areas that can still offer the backdrops appreciated by the production team, such as street views of typical Ruhr-area cities coupled with the blast furnaces of the Thyssen ironworks in the background (Figure 4). We can well understand that not all audiences find beauty in this kind of imagery, but it is also sad if this kind of aesthetic has no other future than conversion into theme parks or providing room for green belts (as will be the case for parts of Bruckhausen). Schimanski’s most recent appearance also included an impressive scene where vapor puffed out of huge industrial chimneys next to the graveyard that he had entered. For those who wish to convince the broad audience of Duisburg’s postindustrial economic base, the scene was undoubtedly a slap in the face—despite the fact that the set was next to a brown coal power plant in Niederaußem in the vicinity of Cologne—far from the implied Duisburg. Turning back to the fourfold table (Figure 3), its lower right field would then correspond with successful urban renewal projects such as Duisburg Innenhafen but with only a partial or selective structural change. The two recent Schimanski episodes have emphasized this, both by thematizing the officer getting older and by using his involvement in the case as a vehicle to help introduce him to the brand new office spaces of the grand projects. As Scholz (2010) has noted, the episode “Schicht im Schacht” broadcast in January 2011, portrayed an officer who seemed to be at a loss in society, particularly pondering the problems of the least well-off and the greediness of the white-collar criminals. Standing on the scaffold of the former iron smelter—now the theme park “Landschaftspark Duisburg-Nord” —he looked like a relic from the industrial era. The most recent Schimanski episode continued in a similar vein. Despite the production team finally having arrived at the flagship development of Innenhafen, the brand new urban scenery was not shown in a flattering light. Trying to disclose corruption within the police, Schimanski visits the internal investigations department of the police, for which the H2-office building acted as the stage (Figure 5). Again Schimanski looked totally out of place, now in the glass-walled office

Figure 3. Alternative views of Duisburg in the conceptual framework.

Figure 4. Robert Lesikowski, The corner of Dieselstrasse and Reinerstrasse in Duisburg-Bruckhausen, 2005. Source: Image courtesy of artist.

Figure 5. Duisburg Innenhafen: The pedal boat with the H2-building in the background harks back to a previous image campaign for the Ruhr region: No more ugly duckling?, 2010. spaces of the business and administration sector. This effectively revealed the gap between the upmarket Innenhafen developments and the dropouts from the new urban development, among which the rest of the episode was played out, rather than praised the flagship project. The fourth field of the table, in its upper left corner, thus represents the last chance for Schimanski and Duisburg to reconcile. At least in principle it is possible that the landscapes typically used as Schimanski’s stages would persist even if the knowledge-led economy and entertainment industries gradually gain the upper hand. This offers the chance for some kind of Schimanski-based profile, including highlighting the previously filmed landscapes that either still exist or have been radically altered. Opening up the selectivity of the film production to fuller review would reveal a city far more diverse than that portrayed in the context of the “Lokalkolorit” that the Tatort has conveyed. This kind of commodification could open up new possibilities for neighborhoods such as Ruhrort. This “birthplace” of Schimanski has actually already seen some traces of this kind of development. A key scene in the first Schimanski episode, the shippers’ tavern “Zum Anker,” is now a cafeteria, but remains very aware of its past as shippers’ bar. Its owners have taken note of the small but constant stream of “pilgrims” walking in the footsteps of their hero, and are likely to use this potential (Britta Gies, interview August 11, 2010). In Ruhrort, but up to now there alone, Schimanski seems to be a source of new selfesteem, while the city of Duisburg more generally wants to forget Schimanski and seems unable to take advantage of his marketing potential. Discussion “The Problem Schimanski” can also be seen in the broader context of the Ruhr region. Apart from being the most famous Duisburg citizen for an ordinary television viewer, Schimanski is also a strong symbol of the Ruhr region as a whole. The headaches of Duisburg could also indicate that such an association is too heavy a burden for one city to carry alone. The straightlaced conservative voices raised against Schimanski would have probably been heard from many Ruhr region cities if they had been featured in a similar manner. However, Prossek’s (2009) analysis shows how a new kind of self-esteem is emerging both in numerous localities across the region and in identity terms at the regional level of the Ruhr itself. This is linked with proactive work, attempts to seize the opportunities at hand, to accept oneself rather than constantly ponder how to be more convincingly like all the others.

The Ruhr region’s broader image struggle can perhaps best be understood with reference to the Duisburg waterfront. The image of water retains a significant presence in the city’s official urban imagery. As Huning and Frank (2010) note, the development of the water systems reflect the ongoing process of structural change across the region, while the city’s industrial heritage is increasingly brought to the fore as the waterfront is developed. In our view the flagship projects on the waterfront can also be seen in another light. The incorporation of the industrial relicts into a kind of open-air museum turns them into a past, in order to sever any association between the museum landscape and the present “reality.” The evidence-base on the change is constructed around projects which, one after another, prove how things used to be but no longer are: the more industrial imagery there is in the museums, the better; the more former industrial façade fronts remain in view, the more consummate is the structural change. Again a comparison with Prossek’s (2009) findings is fruitful here. The past–present–future demarcation in Duisburg may have more of a “cleansing” function than in other localities of the region. Prossek has shown, for instance, how the UNESCO site Zeche Zollverein in Essen could have become far more branding-oriented and superficial than its current profile suggests if the initial concept had been less loyal to the actual functional heritage of the building.10

The Duisburg case also tells us something about demographic trends and the socioeconomic situation in the Ruhr region. The modern office blocks, investments in culture, and “wow”-architecture are built not only to attract investment but also to arrest the outmigration of the city’s own middle class seeking to ensure a certain standard of living (Rolf Fehr, interview, August 11, 2010). The middle class has historically been somewhat invisible within the Ruhr as industrial workers have naturally tended to predominate. It is as if those people who were not part of the working class and the trade unions simply did not exist other than in the fancy villas of the families who created the Ruhr’s industries. This is why Innenhafen can be interpreted as a project that supports the middle class by letting it show. Those attracted to the waterfront have the chance to escape from the shadow of the working class, to be in the midst of their peers. Returning to Schimanski, it is easier now to understand why “official Duisburg” remains quiet about the inspector. Schimanski “works” among the blast furnaces and chimneys that are often still being used—not yet waiting for conversion into flexible spaces designed for the “creative class.” The inspector himself is unrepentantly a friend of the working class, a regular in the harbor pubs, and definitely not a flâneur spending time at converted waterfronts. In response, we suggest that an attempt to combine the living cult of the TV series with the secrets of the huge industrial harbor and the historic shipping culture could make for a strong combination. Many would agree with the filmmakers about the quotidian harbor being a fascinating stage and the scrap aesthetics of some other parts of the city being very evocative. Duisburg could try to broaden the standard “tourist gaze.” Instead of ignoring Schimanski it should let the rougher imagery he evokes exist in parallel with the glossy pictures of the desired, if rather anemic, futures of the city officials. Duisburg’s policy of “silencing” Schimanski and thus ignoring an enormous trace in the collective memory look ever stranger in light of the recent discussion on the creation of a new Ruhr region-based police team. Every city would like to become a crime scene now—Bochum, Dortmund, Essen, and Mülheim have all shown an interest (Lanwert, 2011). At a more abstract level, the case of Duisburg confirms the centrality of city imagery in urban renewal and development policies. It is as if statistics and annual reports cannot verify the inexorable nature of structural change; images seem to provide more tangible pieces of evidence. As the Ruhr area is not connected to one distinct symbol or central area, the challenge associated with re-illustrating the region is considerable. This is probably one reason why the IBA Emscher Park is often referred to as a success story: It directly targeted the orientation problems and aimed at providing landmarks. However, as Prossek (2009) has shown, visibility alone is not necessarily the only prerequisite for something to become a landmark—some rootedness in the regional community and the identity patchwork is also required. The expected catalytic effect of such orientation aids, in terms of identity building, well-being and even business development, undoubtedly requires people not just images. In the Duisburg context, “Seh[n]sucht” (Prossek, 2009, p. 65) or “mis-s-ee-ing” (our translation) seems to go too far.

Looking Forward The Duisburg case thus opens up a number of interesting research perspectives. Further light should be shed on the “belief” in competitive city-regionalism turning one city after another into a series of similar development projects, all claiming to be unique. Boland (2007) regrets this production of identical picture scraps, and we have echoed this in our wish for Duisburg to be more broadminded than its peers. At the same time it is clear that urban renewal efforts on the scale of Duisburg are highly ambitious viewed in the context of current economic and demographic trends, and that pocketing a share of the available gains seems like a necessity particularly for the public sector. Perhaps only a Duisburg which is comfortable with itself and with a booming economy could find the confidence to turn its past officer into a pillar of civic strength. It is obvious that many other theoretical frameworks for this subject matter—Duisburg meets Schimanski—would have been possible. A more profound consideration of the geography of cinema and film theory would, for instance, have been an interesting avenue to explore. Indeed, as Ehrat (2005) notes on the characteristics of cinema, a film normally provides forms that allow us to recognize what we know (p. 157), but in a way that leads toward something that is “merely” possible (pp. 142, 143). We see here links with Prossek’s (2009) analysis on the tourism marketing of the Ruhr region. He finds the central role given to industrial heritage rather plausible, as it would satisfy the desires of a broader audience to start from the most stereotypical parts of the repertoire. They can thus be seen as gateways to the region that can then prove to be something more versatile than, or even fundamentally different, from what the visitor expected (Ehrat, 2005). According to Prossek (2009, 2011) promising signs exist of the region coming to terms with its past and coping better with a present which remains “dissimilar.” Duisburg in turn seems to be riding on a slightly different wave when staging itself alone and miming the postindustrial consumption-oriented urbanness. In a similar manner to that pertaining in Liverpool (e.g., Roberts, 2010), Duisburg’s waterfronts are increasingly disembedded from the city’s own cultural geography, offering panoramic views that attempt to bear witness to the local postindustrial achievements. In conclusion, we find it somewhat disconcerting how fruitful it has been to examine city branding in parallel with the world of filmmaking. The Tatort concept uses imagery allegedly representing a certain city, in relation to a large web of Tatort cities, and results in a highly selective product. Its pastiche topography corresponds to some material landscapes, but in order to convey meaning in the context of the show, it needs to exaggerate and thus major omissions occur. All of this applies equally to city “branding.” Open accountability to the community instead makes a contrasting point. Branding cannot support identity construction if its base is too narrowly focused, or too narrow-minded. We have shown that the Duisburg of Schimanski, a place marginalized by city officials, could instead actually serve as a broad source of inspiration and as the foundation for a new civic form of social conscience. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. Funding The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The research, authorship and the publication of the article by the first author was funded by the Finnish Doctoral Programme in Environmental Social Science (YHTYMÄ). The second author received no financial support. Notes 1. The word Standort is a translation of the French word Garnison, an armed military base. 2. Wiechers (2009), Dörries (2008) quoting the magazine Lift. 3. This (Spiegel Online, 2008) is easy to understand given the 23 million viewers that one episode attracted in 1986, one of the largest Tatort audiences ever. 4. The Centre for Modern and Contemporary Art, with its ambitious extension and two other “wow”- architecture projects (the archives in an old warehouse and the Eurogate) are the most prominent examples. 5. Preceding the closure of the Rheinhausen ironworks Götz George went around asking for money for the workers’ strike pay fund. Dressed up as Schimanski he passed a hat around in “posh” restaurants and other high-society circles.

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