Krimi und Klamauk: Trivializing Murder in the Eberhofer and Kluftinger Series SA SCHA ANDR EA S GER HA R DS Mia mi Univ ersity In the opening sequence of Milchgeld (2012), a recent German crime film, the audience is shown a picturesque intersection of rural streets in the German Allgäu region. Sedate Blasmusik typical for Southern Germany increases in volume from pickup notes to a solid melody as a car approaches the intersection. The camera zooms into the interior of the car, presenting the viewer with a close-up of a musician dressed in Tracht, and another closeup of an empty milk bottle rolling across a bass drum in the back of the car. The driver approaches four other musicians dressed in Tracht waiting in a town square, followed by a bizarre group effort to fit five people and their instruments into the car. The background music, the awkward demeanor of the musicians, the camera angles used and the dialect spoken contribute to the comic impression the scene imposes on the viewer. When, after several Tetris © -like attempts, they have finally managed to fit everyone into the car, the driver’s phone rings. A brief moment of listening to the caller goes by until the driver utters in broad dialect: «I hoab a Leichesach» (I have a murder case). This statement by police detective Kluftinger in the first scene of Milchgeld has one anticipate the plot of a traditional Krimi as defined by Richard Alewyn: the Krimi starts with a murder, followed by the investigation process that eventually leads to the solving of the case. 1 As the scene reveals, however, the film also contains elements of a genre that is not usually associated with the Krimi, namely the genre of comedy. In fact, Milchgeld is but one example of recent German Krimis that are full of humorous and comedic stylistic devices. In this article, I will analyze the use of comic elements in recent German crime fiction and film, in particular Rita Falk’s Eberhofer series and Volker Klüpfel and Michael Kobr’s Kluftinger novels, as well as their respective adaptations for the cinema and television screen. 2 Rita Falk introduced police detective Franz Eberhofer in her debut novel Winterkartoffelknödel in 2010. Eberhofer has been transferred from Munich to his hometown, the fictional Bavarian town of Niederkaltenkirchen, as a disciplinary measure after violating police procedure. Shortly after his Krimi und Klamauk 175 arrival, he finds himself confronted with a quadruple murder. All four members of the Neuhofer family are killed in a series of grotesque murders, and Eberhofer decides to solve the case rather than fulfill his assigned duty of handling traffic violations and minor offenses. In the second novel of the series entitled Dampfnudelblues (2011), Eberhofer has to investigate the murder of the school principal of Niederkaltenkirchen, Höpfl. Volker Klüpfel and Michael Kobr introduced police commissioner Kluftinger in their debut novel Milchgeld (2003). In Milchgeld, Kluftinger faces several murders, all of which are connected with the milk and cheese factory in Altusried, a town in the picturesque Allgäu region of Bavaria. In their second novel, Erntedank (2004), Kluftinger once again investigates a series of murders which begins with a bizarrely decorated first victim: a man is found dead with a slit throat and a missing eye, the body covered with a dead crow. The Eberhofer and Kluftinger series share several characteristics that have become a staple in the German Krimi: they place a strong emphasis on regionalism and character development with respect to the main investigator. Contrary to the established Krimi, however, the Kluftinger and Eberhofer series trivialize the investigator and, in doing so, trivialize the entire murder case. The opening sequence described in the introduction depicts commissioner Kluftinger as a clumsy, overweight, and uncoordinated person who, in his traditional Bavarian Tracht, entirely lacks the authority we would expect from a successful and determined investigator. Like the other customs and traditions that have become typical for the German Krimi since the early 1970s, humor is closely connected to regional and cultural idiosyncrasies. Occurrences of humor «always depend on temporally and spatially related communication situations,» as Ralph Müller has shown; consequently, «‹humorous› can only be defined within its social and historical background» (231). The use of comedic elements in the recent German Krimi clearly accounts for its commercial success, but also raises several questions: How do comic elements fit into a genre that typically revolves around murder? What does the commercial success of Krimis containing comic elements imply? Is comedy in any way connected to death and dying? Can one deduce social discourses from analyzing fictional texts? These questions form the core of the subtexts of the Eberhofer and Kluftinger series, especially when one considers that their wit is not particularly profound. German has a fitting expression for this kind of humor: krachledern. Etymologically, krachledern implies a Bavarian Tracht, or Lederhosen to be more precise, while the noun der Krach means noise in German. 3 Especially associated with Bavaria, the locus of the two series under discussion, the Duden defines krachledern as ribald and boisterous. 4 As it turns 176 Sascha Andreas Gerhards out, exactly this kind of humor characterizes not only the previously discussed opening sequence of the filmic adaptation of Milchgeld, but also the first scene of another filmic adaptation, this time of Dampfnudelblues. Dampfnudelblues opens with a close-up of a whitewashed wall. In bright, big red lettering, we read: «STIRB DU SAU.» After the camera zooms out, two people can be seen facing the wall: police detective Eberhofer, and school principal Höpfl. The following dialogue establishes Eberhofer as a rather careless, slouching police officer, someone who avoids work and effort in favor of leisure time: Eberhofer: Vielleicht sind ja gar nicht Sie gemeint? Höpfl: Nicht ich gemeint! Das ist mein Haus, das ist meine Hauswand, auf der das steht. Wen sollen die denn sonst gemeint haben, häh? Eberhofer: Haben Sie schon einen Verdacht, wer das war? Vielleicht einer von Ihren Schülern? Weil, sagen wir es einmal so, Rektor ist jetzt nicht gerade der beliebteste Job, gerade bei so Schülern. Höpfl: Ja, aber als Polizist wird man ja auch nicht nur Freunde haben, häh? Eberhofer: Ja, aber an meiner Hauswand steht halt jetzt auch nicht: STIRB DU SAU! The use of broad Bavarian dialect in this filmic adaptation further intensifies the dialogue’s absurd, ludicrous impression. Much to Eberhofer’s discomfort, principal Höpfl is found dead only a few days later, his body parts scattered all over the tracks of the local train line. Throughout the plot of Dampfnudelblues, Eberhofer’s apathetic work ethic and his private life play a much bigger role than audiences would anticipate in a traditional Krimi, where the detection process remains the center of attention. In Falk’s Eberhofer series, and the Kluftinger series by Klüpfel and Kobr, character development shifts from the people involved in the murder case - victims, suspects, and police at work - to the private life of the investigators. Combined with the amount of comedic elements in both series, this focus on the characteristics - usually flaws - of the investigator, trivializes the murder case. For instance, Eberhofer’s Oma dictates his life and free time, when, at every opportunity, she expects Eberhofer to drive her around town to pick up the best sale offers - even when Eberhofer is on duty. In addition, his father illegally grows marijuana in the backyard of the family-owned farm. Father Eberhofer uses his drugs frequently throughout the series, while further annoying his son by blasting Beatles songs from his home stereo. Eberhofer’s brother Leopold - a bookseller depicted as a loser who has been married and divorced several times and who is now dating Panida, a Thai woman - does not miss a single opportunity to make Eberhofer look even worse than himself. Eberhofer has no choice but to accept his brother’s demands to babysit Krimi und Klamauk 177 their newborn daughter Uschi. Eberhofer can only find one way to respond, which is rather racist: to provoke his brother, he insists on calling the baby girl Sushi. Especially in situations that revolve around a murder, the use of humor is bold and appears out of place. When Eberhofer arrives on the scene of Höpfl’s supposed suicide, a colleague approaches him: «Da, halt mal.» Without thinking, Eberhofer reaches out, and when looking down realizes that he is holding a human head. «Bah, spinnst Du,» exclaims Eberhofer, only to add in awe: «Das ist ja der Kopf vom Höpfl.» To this, his colleague responds, «Dem Höpfl sein Köpfl also,» and bursts out laughing. These examples demonstrate the trivialization of a murder case via humor, irony, and sarcasm. By playfully intertwining elements of humor and death, this recent Krimi recontextualizes a particularly sensitive cultural discourse: the taboo of death and dying established in post-World War II German society about which Germans have particularly avoided laughing. In her analysis of the utilization of humor as a stylistic device in German Hochliteratur, Dagmar C.G. Lorenz emphasizes one of the crucial functions of humor: «Er erlaubt, vieles zu sagen, ohne Stellung zu nehmen, es also gleichzeitig nicht zu sagen» (28). Analogously, the recent Krimi deploys humor as a means of circumventing the problem of talking about death. According to Sigmund Freud, humor includes satire, parody, irony, and jokes, all of which share the function of expressing the forbidden or inexpressible (116). A well-known German vernacular - «Humor ist, wenn man trotzdem lacht» - emphasizes the function of humor as a placeholder: «Das setzt voraus, daß zum Lachen kein Grund vorliegt […],» concludes Lorenz in her definition of humor (29). By its traditional definition, the Krimi also does not contain room for laughter. After all, a murder is committed, a family is torn apart, and innocent victims are affected. In short, the crime has disrupted the social order. The recent commercial success of Krimis that include the antithesis of death and humor raises the question of why audiences and readers are so attracted to this unusual genre mix. «Der Tod kehrt ins Leben zurück,» a recent article in the German weekly newspaper Die Zeit, suggests that German society is currently undergoing a transformation with respect to coping with death and dying. In this article, Christian Schüle examines the current social and ethical changes in Germany, claiming that «kulturhistorisch betrachtet, ist in Deutschland eine kleine Revolution im Gange» (Schüle). Death and dying, he observes, had long been a cultural taboo in Germany, especially since and because of World War II. Millions of victims, especially those of the industrialized and coordinated genocide in the concentration 178 Sascha Andreas Gerhards camps of the Nazi regime, and a deficient mechanism for coping with the responsibility for these casualties, were essential aspects of this taboo. According to philosopher and health care law specialist Michael Anderheiden, the hedonism of the 1980s and the Schönheits- und Jugendkult of the 1990s (key word: «Generation Golf») had further intensified the collective denial in Germany (Schüle). Several developments in recent years, however, suggest that change is afoot in Germany. Most importantly, the influence of the churches is decreasing, a development affecting not only moral standards but also the tangible intersection of life and death. Graveyards are undergoing a sociocultural change from religious sites to parks with areas that suggest worldly rather than religious references. For instance, one might find an area in a burial park for fans of the immensely successful soccer clubs Borussia Dortmund or Bayern München next to a corner for the local bowling club and Rolling Stones aficionados. «Er ist kein Friedhof im klassischen Sinn, kein christlich umflorter Gottesacker. Er ist ein Parkfriedhof, der nun der Pluralisierung und Partikulasierung der Gesellschaft Rechnung trägt» (Schüle). With respect to the process of dying, the discussion about palliative care and medically-assisted suicide is driving a discourse on dying with dignity. Hospice care relocates death and dying into the midst of society. This change from a cultural taboo to one of the predominant discourses in German society also affects the media: «In mehreren Genres […] ist Alter und Vergänglichkeit mittlerweile auch im Wahrnehmungsraum der Massenmedien angekommen - eine ganz neue Botschaft an die werberelevante Zielgruppe bis 49» (Schüle). This development parallels a social discourse that started in the United States in the late 1960s. Initiated by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, the so-called death awareness movement has been advocating for awareness of death as a social taboo. In On Death and Dying (1969), Kübler-Ross coins the term «death with dignity» and «zealously advocates the proposition that dying need not be something terrible and tragic, but could become a springboard for courage, growth, enrichment and even joy» (Moller 82). In the following years, sociologists approached the topic from a variety of perspectives, for instance with respect to a growing number of people dying at a hospital rather than at home but also addressing the emerging fields of hospice care, palliative care, assisted suicide, and euthanasia. 5 One could argue, then, as Schüle and Kübler-Ross have done among others, that the debate on death with dignity has shifted death and dying from a cultural taboo to the midst of society. The individual, however, is still left alone with its fear of death and dying. It seems that one must clearly distinguish between the way a topic is addressed in society as a whole, including Krimi und Klamauk 179 a debate predominantly driven by sociologists, doctors, and politicians (as is currently the case in Germany), and the waning support for the individual, be it the dying person or the bereaved. Norbert Fischer emphasizes in «Tod in der Mediengesellschaft: Der flüchtige Tod und Bestattungsrituale im Übergang» that the abandonment of the Friedhofszwang 6 and the decreasing significance of funeral rites leads to a spiritual void for the dying and the bereaved individual. Although Fischer acknowledges the existence of a social discourse on death and dying, he also observes a growing medical and legal bureaucratization of death. This void, he argues, is partially filled with the depiction of death in the media: «Ist der Tod […] im privaten Alltagsleben faktisch abwesend, so erscheint uns seine Präsenz in den Medien fast aufdringlich. Dem Rückgang des primären Todeserlebnis steht die Allgegenwart des über die Medien vermittelten Todes gegenüber» (Fischer). Death in the media, according to Fischer, is usually a violent one, and, more importantly, is typically depicted as the death of the Other: «Der Tod erscheint uns daher als der Tod des Anderen - wir goutieren ihn - beruhigend zu wissen, dass die, die in Film und Fernsehen sterben, weit entfernt von uns selbst sind.» This emotional distance allows us - as the audience of a film or television series - to appreciate crime shows, and yet it signifies a growing rather than a decreasing taboo. The addition of humor, then, plays a crucial role as a mediator between life and death, discourse and taboo: it allows us to approach an unpleasant topic and even laugh about it, although at first glance death and laughter do not seem to be affiliated. This interplay of death and laughter is a recurring element in the Eberhofer and Kluftinger series in general, and Dampfnudelblues in particular. After principal Höpfl’s remains have been found on the train tracks, Eberhofer’s supervisor is convinced that the principal committed suicide. Eberhofer receives the order to inform Höpfl’s relatives and close the case. Eberhofer, however, believes that Höpfl was murdered and continues his search for clues. The filmic adaptation of Dampfnudelblues in particular leaves a lot of room for comedic stylistic devices as the investigation continues. On his way to inform Höpfl’s sister about the principal’s death, Eberhofer drives his BMW police car through the picturesque Bavarian landscape, blasting Judas Priest’s song Breaking the Law from the car stereo. The cold-hearted reaction of Höpfl’s sister sparks Eberhofer’s curiosity, and in the course of the investigation the coroner informs Eberhofer in a phone call about having found Höpfl’s sperm in a deceased body during a forensic examination. When Eberhofer requests the personal information of «the woman,» the Coroner succinctly responds that he has never mentioned a female victim, yet he cynically refuses to confirm that Höpfl was homosexual: 180 Sascha Andreas Gerhards «Ich würde mich hüten, da irgendwelche Verdächtigungen anzustellen, oder sowas. Ich sag nur, ich hab’ da eine männliche Leiche liegen mit Höpfl seinem Sperma im Arsch.» The coroner’s crude humor, krachledern once again, combined with the Bavarian dialect and the doctor’s facial expression, as well as the use of sound effects reminiscent of animated movies, makes the scene as bizarre as it is unrealistic and, in doing so, lifts the weight of the unspeakable off of the audience. Apart from the investigation process, Dampfnudelblues offers a myriad of funny episodes that further trivialize the murder case. This trivialization, in turn, characterizes the Eberhofer series in general. In Winterkartoffelknödel (2010), the first novel of the Eberhofer series, humor is used as a recurring element, especially after the discussion of murders. 7 Shortly after Eberhofer realizes that three deaths in the Neuhofer family within a few weeks cannot possibly be a coincidence, he starts investigating. Brooding over clues - the Neuhofers refused to sell their property to a real estate agent - Falk has Eberhofer reflect on his process of investigation. Eberhofer’s Oma crudely interrupts this rather serious thought process, stating that the Schwammerlsuppe is ready. Rather than attending to the serious subject matter of a potential serial murder, Falk trivializes the case by shifting the readers’ attention to something rather comical, the recurring inappropriate behavior of Eberhofer’s Oma. After the last surviving family member, Hans Neuhofer, is also reported dead, Eberhofer visits the scene of the supposed accident. But rather than focusing on the seriousness of the fourth death in a row and the circumstances that led to the «accident,» Falk has Eberhofer report on his dog Ludwig’s behavior: «Wie ich hinkomm, pinkelt der Ludwig gleich einmal auf dem Neuhofer seinen Fuß. Markiert sozusagen. Aber das ist jetzt auch schon Wurst: keine Atmung, kein Puls, kein Gar-Nix» (Winterkartoffelknödel 92). Once again, the recurring krachledern humor is apparent here. Rather than having the investigator showcase an appropriate demeanor, Falk disrupts the horror of yet another murder by the use of humor. In a recent clinical study on humor, researchers Christopher R. Long and Dara Greenwood confronted test subjects with assignments revolving around pain and death, asking participants to invent headings for comic strips. Their study led to two interesting findings: Those subjects who were unconsciously confronted with death composed the funniest headings. The headings by subjects who were confronted with their own death, however, were the least humorous. The researchers concluded that humor can be helpful to deal with preexisting, unconscious fears, such as the fear of death and dying. 8 The findings by Long and Greenwood parallel Fischer’s observation of the way we deal with the fear of death and dying in a postmodern media- Krimi und Klamauk 181 driven society: death is removed from the personal sphere, the individual is alienated from his deepest fears. But what if we are personally affected? Jean- Jacques Rousseau claimed that «he who pretends to look on death without fear lies. All men are afraid of dying, this is the great law of sentient beings, without which the entire species would soon be destroyed» (128). Rousseau’s claim counters today’s notion that by way of social discourses on palliative care, death with dignity, and assisted suicide, death loses its terror and role as the last social taboo. «The uncertainties associated with death are not necessarily confined to contemporary times. However […] the pre-modern world was characterised [sic] by a widespread acceptance of notions of fate and fortune» (McNamara 15). In today’s postmodern, media-centered world, the notion of fate and fortune has given way to the idea of human beings as a flawless, always-functioning commodity. Death only signifies the point in time where we are not functioning anymore; the commodity is broken. «Death is therefore always a problem for all societies, since every social system must in some ways accept death, because human beings inevitably die, but at the same time social systems must to a certain extent deny death to allow people to go on in day-to-day life with some sense of commitment» (Mellor 13). Death, in other words, is understood as a limitation, a challenge to the individual that at the same time presents a problem of meaning and modernity to society. In a second article in Die Zeit entitled «Der optimierte Tod,» Christian Schüle called this phenomenon «die Imperative der Ökonomisierung des Humanen.» In postmodern society, human beings are faced with the expectation to be a functioning member of society. Despite new political, sociological, and medical approaches to death and dying, the individual has lost the moral and spiritual support churches and communities used to provide, be it through burial rites, community mourning, or assistance by pastors or priests: he is left alone with death. A possible explanation for the commercial success of humoristic Krimis, then, is the way they approach death vis-à-vis this spiritual void of the postmodern individual. Although humor in Volker Klüpfel and Michael Kobr’s Kluftinger series is not as krachledern as in Rita Falk’s Eberhofer books, the authors use a very similar stylistic device to attenuate the magnitude of murder. As the opening sequence of Milchgeld demonstrates, the Kluftinger character, much like Rita Falk’s Eberhofer, does not represent a traditional Krimi investigator. 9 He is lazy, overweight, and clumsy, and as is the case with Eberhofer, several other characters in the series diminish him, even his own wife. His neighbor, Doktor Langhammer, also takes every opportunity to show Kluftinger his culturally sophisticated superiority. 10 Langhammer’s «cooking class» for Kluftinger is one of many scenes in Milchgeld that depict the investigator as 182 Sascha Andreas Gerhards uneducated and naive. 11 When the first of two murders in Milchgeld is being investigated, Kluftinger decides to cancel a planned vacation with his wife, who responds cold-heartedly by taking the trip with Langhammer’s wife instead. One night Kluftinger, left home alone with an array of precooked dishes frozen in Tupperware containers, attempts to call his wife in Spain. The scene opens with a close-up of the investigator copying words from a dictionary into his private notebook. He then dials an international phone number. When the hotel receptionist picks up the phone, Kluftinger displays an utter inability to converse in a foreign language, awkwardly spelling his name in a mix of German, English, and gibberish. Although Kluftinger finally manages to get through to his wife, the phone conversation does not significantly improve. Apparently, Erika is at the pool bar, male voices speaking Spanish can be heard in the background whispering compliments about Erika just loud enough to be picked up over the phone. Kluftinger is completely inept during the brief conversation, and eventually, Erika simply hangs up on him. The murder investigation in Milchgeld turns out to be as unsuccessful as Kluftinger’s phone call to Spain. First, Kluftinger impiously chases a potential suspect across the graveyard during the funeral of the first murder victim. Shortly thereafter, another suspect manages to escape from Kluftinger who has no choice but to sedately run after the suspect’s car. In the course of the investigation, Kluftinger’s overambitious deputy Richie complicates the case indefinitely by reexamining a cold case instead of focusing on clues. Finally, Kluftinger and Richie are unable to prevent a second murder, and Richie, rather than keeping calm, panics, trips over the deceased, and falls backwards into a pit. These examples from Milchgeld once again showcase a trivialization of murder in the recent German Krimi. «Humor, so Freud, erspart Gefühlsaufwand […], so daß [sic] vom Schaden, Schmerz, usf. ‹humoristische Lust› gewonnen werden kann, die auch Unbeteiligte animiert» (Lorenz 30). Pain and damage especially occur whenever a murder is committed. In addition to countering the serious moment of a recently discovered murder with trivial, funny scenes like the ones described above, the Kluftinger novels and films use the same strategy as the Eberhofer series when it comes to the actual murder. In Erntedank (2004), the second novel of the Kluftinger series, tension is decreased via humor after detailed descriptions of a murder or the discovery of the victim. For instance, when the investigator informs the wife of the first murder victim about her husband’s death, the uncomfortable meeting is described in great detail, but the authors add a moment of relief - and quite literally so: earlier in the day, Kluftinger had discovered water damage in his bathroom. The situation in the murder victim’s Krimi und Klamauk 183 living room shortly after the delivery of the sad news showcases Kluftinger’s deficient tactfulness and trivializes the entire scene. While the victim’s wife is mourning the death of her husband, Kluftinger reflects on the urgency of finding a bathroom: «Wenn er nicht sofort auf die Toilette käme, würde es einen weiteren Wasserschaden an diesem Tag geben« (Erntedank 32). Throughout the novel, whenever situations that revolve around death occur - the examination of the crime scene, a visit to the coroner’s, or the moment after the discovery of the second murder victim - Klüpfel and Kobr release the reader by use of a humoristic stylistic device. Much like the Eberhofer series, comic elements are used to break up tension and to divert the readers’ or viewers’ attention away from the seriousness of the subject matter, death and dying. This process of removing oneself has a cathartic effect on the investigator and, at the same time, on readers and viewers because it creates an emotional distance, diminishing the emotional impact of death. The discussion of select works from the Kluftinger and Eberhofer series with respect to their use of humor has shown that despite a changing societal awareness of death and dying such as the death with dignity movement, the subject matter remains a delicate and emotional topic for individuals. The appearance of comic elements in the Krimi parallels a societal development in which death is negotiated socially but not individually. Death is now negotiated in the media - both in literary and filmic form - in such a way that the distance between our own personal experience and the mediated experience is big enough to not be emotionally harmful. Even in the Krimi, humor induces laughter. Laughter allows us to face our fear of the last social taboo: our own death. One could even go so far as to argue that both Eberhofer and Kluftinger represent us, the readers or viewers, in their humorous way of dealing with situations in which they are confronted with death and dying. After all, the two investigators do not live in a secularized metropolis like Berlin, Hamburg, Munich, or Cologne, but in one of Germany’s most rural regions where religion and traditional burial rites are still part of cultural values. The humoristic approach to death, in other words, might represent a way of mocking those people who take such traditions as a means of coping or bereavement. At the same time, one could also laugh at the trendy, worldly burial rites discussed by Schüle, for instance the Borussia Dortmund fan. This and other unconventional burial strategies can be identified as yet another way of avoiding the essence of the problem: the undeniable inconceivability of mortality. The death with dignity movement, from this perspective, represents a removal of taboos when it comes to the process of dying but not from death itself. Human beings do not establish a closer relationship with death simply because they can plan their own process of dying more in- 184 Sascha Andreas Gerhards dependently, with the sole responsibility for their own decisions. To the contrary, the absence of established authorities, and their religious or communal rites, makes understanding the phenomenon of death even less manageable from an emotional standpoint. There is a discrepancy between public absence and private presence when it comes to dealing with death (Melor 28). But dealing with death, as Jane Littlewood suggests, eventually becomes a psychological inevitability (73). It seems that laughing, as argued by Freud, remains the only way to deal with the unspeakable. In the recent German Krimi, whether in fiction or in film, humor - as a way of negotiating the unspeakable and inevitable and thereby diminishing the emotional impact of death - lies at the heart of the genre’s commercial success. Notes 1 Alewyn 6-15. Alewyn’s definition is undisputed although there have been many crime novels and films that do not follow the traditional Krimi recipe anymore. 2 Throughout my article, I use the term Krimi to refer to both literary as well as filmic forms of the genre. Although not entirely undisputed in its applicability, I have shown elsewhere how uniquely intertwined the literary and filmic crime subgenres are in Germany. An interdependence exists here for which the aforementioned crime series are another prime example. For details see Gerhards. 3 Lederhosen are also referred to as die Krachlederne in Bavarian. 4 Duden: «krachledern: Adjektiv, eine derb-heftige Art aufweisend.» 5 «The commonly used term euthanasia, originally derived from the Greek word meaning ‹good death,› now is used to refer to any action or purposeful inaction by an individual that is intended to encourage the death of another» (Kapp 55). 6 Friedhofszwang was a law in Germany that forbade funerals outside of cemeteries, with the exception of burial at sea. 7 The Eberhofer series is not discussed in chronological order here because Dampfnudelblues, although being the second novel of the series, preceded Winterkartoffelknödel on the cinema screen. The film Winterkartoffelknödel premiered after research for this essay had been completed. 8 See Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung «Gedanken an den Tod fördern den Humor.» 9 The authors of the Kluftinger series, Volker Klüpfel and Michael Kobr, actively contributed to the screenplay and filming of Milchgeld. Volker Klüpfel even played the role of coroner Georg Böhm. 10 Throughout the Kluftinger series, one can find references to Dr. Langhammer’s descriptive name, implying that he always has the upper hand («am längeren Hebel sitzen»). 11 Another prime example for Langhammer’s superiority is a scene from the novel Erntedank, in which the Langhammers and Kluftingers play Trivial Pursuit. In this scene, Kluftinger displays an utter ignorance toward culture, education, and general knowledge (75-86). Krimi und Klamauk 185 Works Cited Alewyn, Richard. «Ursprung des Detektivromans.» Jahrbuch für finnisch-deutsche Literaturbeziehungen 28 (1996): 6-15. Dampfnudelblues. Dir. Ed Herzog. 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