Visul lui Tanase: A weird, dusty postcard from Berlin

Is it worth your time?

If you have any interest in old Romanian stage comedy, maybe. If you want a tight, coherent plot, keep walking. You’ll probably hate it if you need modern pacing, but if you’re a fan of the kind of odd, fragmented storytelling you see in things like The Wanderer, you might find it charming in a crusty sort of way. 🎞️

Watching Constantin Tanase in Berlin feels less like watching a movie and more like watching someone try to navigate a city with a suitcase full of props. It’s got that specific, clunky energy you find in early attempts to blend stage antics with film. Sometimes it works, mostly it just feels like a fever dream.

The Berlin Connection

The whole premise is that Tanase gets invited to shoot a film in Berlin. It’s a classic setup for fish-out-of-water gags. He spends a lot of time looking confused at German signage and behaving exactly like a man who refuses to adapt to his surroundings.

There’s a scene where he’s wandering around a street corner that honestly looks like it was filmed in a hurry. You can practically see the extras looking at him like he’s lost. It’s not smooth, but it’s real.

• The dialogue feels like it was written on the back of a coaster.
• Some of the reactions from the supporting cast are just… baffled.
• The transition between sketches is barely there.

It reminds me a bit of the frantic energy in Fiddlin' Around, where the logic matters way less than the next joke. Except here, the jokes are all about Tanase’s specific brand of Romanian wit. If you don't speak the language or know the cultural context, a lot of it lands with a thud.

Odd Observations

There’s a moment with a hat that goes on for about thirty seconds too long. It’s not even a particularly funny hat, but he insists on fiddling with it until the tension in the room is just plain awkward. I think he thought it was high comedy.

The movie is definitely thinner than The Student of Prague, which at least had some visual weight to it. This just feels like a loose collection of skits held together by sheer willpower and travel expenses. Still, there’s something undeniably raw about watching a performer try to export his entire personality to a new country.

It’s not a masterpiece. It’s barely a movie, honestly. But it’s a weird little window into a guy who clearly owned every room he walked into, even if that room was in Berlin and nobody understood a word he was saying. 🎩