インタビュー | agnez mo | Schön! Magazine

Over the past three years, David Schütter‘s career has taken him through a striking range of worlds, characters and creative roles. He has moved between acting and producing, founded his own production company, developed new projects, and kept seeking stories that let him step outside the boundaries of everyday reality. From dystopian politics and vampires to fantasy, animation and the melancholy poetry of Schubert, his recent work reflects a fascination with characters who find themselves caught between opposing worlds — between idealism and ambition, reality and fantasy, belonging and isolation.

In ‘City of Blood’, he plays Oliver Lawal, a politician who begins with a genuine desire to represent people who have been overlooked before gradually becoming consumed by the pursuit of power. The role gave him an opportunity to explore the uncomfortable distance between political ideals and the compromises that can emerge once ambition takes over. The series also allowed him to work within a dystopian world that, during filming, sometimes felt uncomfortably close to reality.

His interest in fantasy goes back much further than his recent work. As a child, he painted miniature figures, creating his own small fantasy worlds long before acting became his profession. Today, he continues to be drawn to stories that offer an escape from reality while also finding ways to examine it from a different perspective. For him, fantasy isn’t simply escapism; it can be a way of approaching difficult subjects indirectly, allowing audiences to see familiar ideas in unfamiliar worlds.

Now, with more projects in development and a series he plans to continue writing while spending time in Sicily, he is embracing another chapter of an increasingly varied career. Schön! spoke with him about the creative freedom of working across different sides of the industry, the complicated transformation of his character in ‘City of Blood’, and more.

You last spoke with Schön three years ago. What have you been up to, and how has that time been for you creatively?

I’ve been blessed with very different roles and characters to speak through, and worlds to move through with them. Nothing has resembled anything I’d done before. So I would be a fool to complain about any of it. Along the way, I also founded a production company. We currently have a one-person play running in Switzerland, and we’re developing a series for a streamer that I co-wrote with a man in prison. For three years, we talked on the phone. Or rather, whispered. That’s how the project grew. I can already tell you where we ended up, genre-wise. Not very surprising, I’m afraid. The entire thing is set in the criminal underworld.

There’s also a very special project I’ve been developing with a good friend of mine, a director and the photographer behind this very editorial, Ruben Nicolas Meier, set to shoot next year. More than that I can’t say. Top secret, for now. Being a producer has also shown me the industry from the other side. I understand a lot of decisions now that I didn’t understand before, including some that were made about me as an actor. I see the whole picture much more clearly now.

As you’ve been working on both sides of the industry, have you seen any changes or trends that make you hopeful about the future of the industry, or about your work as an actor and producer?

I think Germany in particular is getting braver about the subjects it takes on, and ‘City of Blood’ is a good example. It’s set in the future, but it’s really about now: populism, poverty, climate change. Telling that as a dystopia takes courage. It’s not a typical German production, at least not by the standards of the last few years.

I know everyone is nervous about AI right now, and not without reason. It will take over parts of the work. But people will keep wanting things made by people. Fast fashion didn’t kill the tailor. It made him a luxury. So I’m trying to be more curious than nervous. I do say please and thank you to it, though. Just in case.

Speaking of escapism, ‘City of Blood’ is set in a dystopian future. What was it about the story that interested you? And in your last interview with Schön, you said you might have been interested in becoming a politician had you not gone into acting. Did that influence your interest in playing Oliver Lawal, who is a politician in the series?

There are so many careers that would at least be interesting, even adventurous. But what fascinated me most about Oliver was how fast idealism can turn into opportunism. You see it all the time in politics, and you see it in my world too. Actors start out wanting to tell a story, and later they just want a job that puts food on the table. Producers want to tell the untold stories, and later they just want the contract. I know how that shift happens, and I could translate it to a politician.

And then the establishment gets its hands on you, and your ambitions quietly shrink. The gap between what you promised and what you actually deliver just keeps widening, and at some point you stop measuring it altogether.

Oliver starts out trying to represent people who are underprivileged and poor, but when he realizes he can reach a certain level of power, he starts selling out. What drew you to that transformation?

I live in Neukölln, and I’ve lived here for ten years. It’s one of the poorest districts in Berlin; it’s predominantly Arab, and in some corners the only hint that you’re still in Germany is the street signs. Every Arab culture has found its way here and brought its kitchen along. You can eat the best kafta, shawarma, and falafel on every corner. I love the place. Parts of ‘City of Blood’ are set here, and it’s where Oliver comes from. Oliver starts genuinely wanting to fight for people like his neighbours. He founds Aufbruch Berlin for the ones who aren’t seen, who don’t have money, who live in districts like this one. And then, slowly, that changes. Because wanting to be chancellor is a different ballgame entirely.

I recognise that tension. I grew up in a poor district in Hamburg, and I still find myself at industry events surrounded by people wearing jewellery that could feed a family for a few months, smiling and saying nothing. Because at some point you’re playing the game as well, whether you like it or not. That’s the quiet compromise I brought to Oliver — and watching it consume him from the inside was the most interesting part of the whole role.

The political landscape in ‘City of Blood’ is primed for somebody like Oliver. He starts off wanting to represent the underprivileged, then begins selling out as he sees the possibility of power. The public doesn’t know what’s happening behind the scenes—they’re seeing what he’s saying and resonating with it. Then he starts getting manipulated from behind the scenes.

The strange thing about the shoot was that the political climate outside kept darkening, week by week. Especially in America, things were moving in directions that felt more dystopian than anything we’d written. We actually had to go back and sharpen scenes mid-shoot because they’d already started to feel dated. So even though our story was set in the future, reality almost overtook us.

He starts off with a populist mentality and then slowly slides into fascism.

Yes, all the way. There’s actually one line I wrote myself, specifically to mark the turning point: “Everybody wants to come to Berlin, but we are from Berlin.” That’s the fascist moment. We added it during the rework, and it landed exactly where it needed to. The most remarkable thing about filming the big speech was the extras. To set the scene: my party’s headquarters is an empty swimming pool. There’s no water in ‘City of Blood’. It’s 42 degrees, permanently. Water is a luxury.

Populism has a very specific rhythm. You ask a question and immediately answer it. Every five to ten sentences you need a punchline, like a flavour enhancer, something that keeps people hanging on your every word. It’s designed for people looking for simple answers to complicated questions, and it works by never letting the energy drop. Our extras were Czech. Five hundred people who didn’t speak a word of German. Nobody held up a sign, nobody gave a cue. And yet they knew exactly when to clap, every single time. I still find that deeply unsettling. Because it means populism doesn’t need a shared language. It has its own.

It’s powerful, but also dangerous. There’s a sense of dread in that scene, because Oliver has gone so far down that path. Even though there are moments throughout the series where you can see doubt and fear, he keeps doubling down.

What’s frightening isn’t how far someone like Oliver can go. It’s how quickly he gets there. And what travels with him is his following. You see it everywhere in the world right now: people who started as citizens, voted, and radicalised themselves into soldiers almost before you notice. In the series, they literally hand me weapons. “Let’s armour up,” they say. “Let’s go out there and do it ourselves.”

I liked that we also got to see both angles. We’re not just seeing him as a politician from the outside; we’re brought into his internal world as well. We see the doubt and fear, and also the family dynamic—with his wife, his father-in-law and his brother, who is still in the poorer neighbourhood. We see him essentially take advantage of his brother for a photo shoot.

God, it’s ugly. That’s where it begins, the first drops of poison finding their way into everything he once stood for.

And then there’s the manipulation from Johan and the vampires. It gets to a point where you can tell he’s not believing what he’s saying, but his desire for power and to win is so powerful.

I think that’s what it feels like when you no longer believe yourself. I know it from personal experience. You have to be clever enough to lie to yourself and stupid enough to actually buy it. The results aren’t always particularly wholesome. But as a strategy, it’s remarkably effective.

At the very end, in his final scene with Zeno and Bea, he accepts that little shot of blood and essentially thinks, “Fuck it. We’ve gone this far.” If the story were to continue beyond the season finale, where do you think Oliver could go in his relationship with the vampires?

My end looks very much like a beginning. Oliver Lawal is finished. Chancellor Lawal of Aufbruch Berlin is just getting started. Which, as a party name, has always sounded faintly militaristic to me. What happens next with the vampires is genuinely open. Some of them are decent. Most of them we don’t know yet. And that ambiguity is very deliberate, because the question Oliver is really facing isn’t about vampires at all.

The vampires are a metaphor. It’s about whether you let people in from outside, and what you do with them when they arrive. You can read them as the stranger, the outsider, the one who doesn’t belong. Or you can read them as parasites. That’s a matter of perspective. And what interests me personally is the third option: you let them in, you open up, and you grow into something new together.

Because the alternative, pressing a residency permit into someone’s hand with a set of instructions attached — learn the language, adopt our culture, live as we do, or you are not welcome here — has consequences. Those consequences are exactly what we’re seeing now. I think it’s a large part of why people are angry, why they’re becoming more receptive to populism, and why the polls and recent elections look the way they do. A far-right extremist party is back. It’s a global phenomenon, I know. But of all countries, Germany. Disgusting, to be honest. I just hope the pendulum swings back just as hard, and soon.

It’s a global phenomenon, unfortunately.

I always thought we’d learned enough not to keep making the same mistakes the moment just enough time has passed. But human adaptability is an astounding thing. We get used to peace. We get used to prosperity. We get used to absolutely anything, given enough time. And the same quality that helps us survive the worst also makes us comfortable with things we shouldn’t be comfortable with. Scale that across a country, and political catastrophe stops being a distant possibility and starts knocking on all of our doors.

To pivot, there’s another vampire thriller you’re part of, ‘Flesh of the Gods’. You’re reuniting with Kristen Stewart in this film. Is there anything you can tell us about your character, your role or the film in general?

Let me put it this way: it was special enough to get Kristen Stewart back into a vampire movie. That’s really all I can say about the film itself. But the set was unlike anything I’ve experienced. Every single department was spot on, the best I’ve seen across the board. I loved the way they worked, how flexible it all was. Standing there, I remember thinking: this might just be the best thing I’ve ever been part of.

You said you’re on the other side of things for this film. Does that mean your character is a vampire this time around?

There are vampires, yes. And this time, I might just be on the other side of things.

Since you have these two vampire projects, a fun question: If you were given the choice, would you want to be a vampire?

I’ve thought about it a lot; my conclusion is that I couldn’t resist. Even if you stop feeling anything, even if the real world casts you out and you have to hide all the time, there’s something seductive about an existence that is simply not permitted. The stolen apple always tastes sweeter than the one you paid for.

Another upcoming film is ‘Geister (Ghost Song)’, which is opening at the San Sebastian Film Festival. It sounds really interesting.

Yes, ‘Geister’, Fatih Akin’s new film. I only have a very small part, and I should be upfront about that: I’m not the important one here. The young actor is, and the story is incredibly moving. Fatih Akin is a legend, especially where I’m from, in Hamburg. There are things in life you simply don’t say no to. When he whistles, I come running. I play a psychiatrist at the hospital, following an incident I won’t go into further. A character who very much cares about the lives of young men. As we all should. More than that, I really can’t tell you.

Is it fair to say you’re drawn to stories with supernatural or fantasy elements? There are quite a few in your career.

There are quite a few, and right now I’m actually doing a children’s film where I transform into a cougar. So yes, I’d say the pattern holds. ‘Lord of the Rings’, vampires, ‘House of the Dragon’, I love all of it. Because the best thing about filmmaking is that you’re not obliged to face reality every single time you sit down to tell a story.

Even when the story is true, a little movie magic never hurts. There’s something genuinely beautiful about imagining worlds beyond our own. Fantasy lets you breathe. It takes you somewhere else, and reality can be exhausting. Sometimes devastating. Occasionally just dull. Not always, of course. But fantasy tends to be none of those things. The distance it creates isn’t just escapism. It’s also a tool. If you criticise someone directly, they’ll defend themselves. But wrap the same critique in a fairy tale and suddenly people are willing to sit with it.

You mentioned ‘House of the Dragon’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’. Are there any fantasy worlds that you would love to be a part of, whether professionally or just out of curiosity?

Any of them, honestly. All of them. Though I should tell you where the obsession started. When I was twelve, I used to paint miniature figures. I could never concentrate on anything for more than twenty minutes, but for one brief period of my life there was complete silence in my room, which was, apparently, a completely new experience for my mother. I’d sit there for hours painting their tiny eyes, their armour, every detail. Those little figures were my first fantasy world. The problem was they were far too expensive, so the silence didn’t last.

Another upcoming project is ‘A Winter’s Journey’. Anything you can tell us about that? I know it’s been in production for quite a while, and I don’t know whether it has a release date yet.

I love Schubert’s Winterreise, and one song in particular: “Der Leiermann.” Find the version sung by Thomas Quasthoff on YouTube. There’s something about that melody I can’t explain, but I think it’s the endless melancholy. And I love melancholy. That feeling when it’s raining outside, and you’re inside by the fire. The love of sadness. Finding beauty in it. That’s what melancholy is, to me. This song cycle had been part of my life for a long time. So when they called out of nowhere and asked if I wanted a small part, I didn’t need much convincing.

It was one of my first English-language productions, with a lot of dialogue alongside the songs. The whole film is painted in the style of Caspar David Friedrich, and by the way, we share two of his names: David and Friedrich. Friedrich is my middle name, after my grandfather.

I got to work with John Malkovich and Jason Isaacs, both of them phenomenally talented. And the way they shot it was extraordinary. At one point I snuck a look at the director’s monitor and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had to take a photo. On the screen, it already looked like a painting. Now a whole team is actually painting every frame, which is why it’s taking four years. Everything about that project was poetic, in the best possible sense. What was harder to romanticise into something poetic was my financial situation at that point. I was broke, with more bills than I could count, and one week away from being kicked out of my apartment. We shot in Poland, and there was a small casino underneath the hotel. I asked the producer to pay me daily. I pocketed the money and went downstairs.

I didn’t fully know the rules of blackjack. A very kind Chinese gentleman at the table quietly explained them to me. A small crowd gathered. I played, I won, and I walked away with fifteen times what I put in. I was able to pay every single bill. That film brought me luck. I’ve never set foot in a casino since.

The film is being hand-painted frame by frame, which makes the production incredibly labour-intensive.

It’s a little miracle, and in some ways wonderfully old-fashioned, like hand-drawn animated films from back in the days. 24 frames per second, each one a separate image, just to create the illusion of movement. Multiplied by 90 minutes. The sheer number of paintings is insane. And I believe that choosing this kind of labour over the easier path breathes what one might call a real soul into a project, one an audience can feel.

Did you sing in the film at all, or was it purely dialogue for your character?

No singing, I’m afraid. I dance, though. It’s actually quite a big dance scene, and a dramaturgically important one.

Finally, what’s next for you?

I’m heading to Sicily for a few months, through November and into the winter. I’ll keep writing my series there. Berlin gives you a lot of things, and I’ve always been grateful for that. But right now it’s time to let Berlin be Berlin, rest my head, clear my mind, and take endless walks through Bella Italia.

You can stream ‘City of Blood’ on Disney+.

photography. Ruben Nicolas Meier
fashion. Ridvan Cavus
talent. David Schütter
hair + make up. Fabienne Hoppe
editor. Kelsey Barnes
interview. Suhaila 
hair + make up assistant, sfx. Paula Baginski
assistant. Svenja Blobel

Over the past three years, David Schütter‘s career has taken him through a striking range of worlds, characters and creative roles. He has moved between acting and producing, founded his own production company, developed new projects, and kept seeking stories that let him step outside the boundaries of everyday reality. From dystopian politics and vampires to fantasy, animation and the melancholy poetry of Schubert, his recent work reflects a fascination with characters who find themselves caught between opposing worlds — between idealism and ambition, reality and fantasy, belonging and isolation.

In ‘City of Blood’, he plays Oliver Lawal, a politician who begins with a genuine desire to represent people who have been overlooked before gradually becoming consumed by the pursuit of power. The role gave him an opportunity to explore the uncomfortable distance between political ideals and the compromises that can emerge once ambition takes over. The series also allowed him to work within a dystopian world that, during filming, sometimes felt uncomfortably close to reality.

His interest in fantasy goes back much further than his recent work. As a child, he painted miniature figures, creating his own small fantasy worlds long before acting became his profession. Today, he continues to be drawn to stories that offer an escape from reality while also finding ways to examine it from a different perspective. For him, fantasy isn’t simply escapism; it can be a way of approaching difficult subjects indirectly, allowing audiences to see familiar ideas in unfamiliar worlds.

Now, with more projects in development and a series he plans to continue writing while spending time in Sicily, he is embracing another chapter of an increasingly varied career. Schön! spoke with him about the creative freedom of working across different sides of the industry, the complicated transformation of his character in ‘City of Blood’, and more.

You last spoke with Schön three years ago. What have you been up to, and how has that time been for you creatively?

I’ve been blessed with very different roles and characters to speak through, and worlds to move through with them. Nothing has resembled anything I’d done before. So I would be a fool to complain about any of it. Along the way, I also founded a production company. We currently have a one-person play running in Switzerland, and we’re developing a series for a streamer that I co-wrote with a man in prison. For three years, we talked on the phone. Or rather, whispered. That’s how the project grew. I can already tell you where we ended up, genre-wise. Not very surprising, I’m afraid. The entire thing is set in the criminal underworld.

There’s also a very special project I’ve been developing with a good friend of mine, a director and the photographer behind this very editorial, Ruben Nicolas Meier, set to shoot next year. More than that I can’t say. Top secret, for now. Being a producer has also shown me the industry from the other side. I understand a lot of decisions now that I didn’t understand before, including some that were made about me as an actor. I see the whole picture much more clearly now.

As you’ve been working on both sides of the industry, have you seen any changes or trends that make you hopeful about the future of the industry, or about your work as an actor and producer?

I think Germany in particular is getting braver about the subjects it takes on, and ‘City of Blood’ is a good example. It’s set in the future, but it’s really about now: populism, poverty, climate change. Telling that as a dystopia takes courage. It’s not a typical German production, at least not by the standards of the last few years.

I know everyone is nervous about AI right now, and not without reason. It will take over parts of the work. But people will keep wanting things made by people. Fast fashion didn’t kill the tailor. It made him a luxury. So I’m trying to be more curious than nervous. I do say please and thank you to it, though. Just in case.

Speaking of escapism, ‘City of Blood’ is set in a dystopian future. What was it about the story that interested you? And in your last interview with Schön, you said you might have been interested in becoming a politician had you not gone into acting. Did that influence your interest in playing Oliver Lawal, who is a politician in the series?

There are so many careers that would at least be interesting, even adventurous. But what fascinated me most about Oliver was how fast idealism can turn into opportunism. You see it all the time in politics, and you see it in my world too. Actors start out wanting to tell a story, and later they just want a job that puts food on the table. Producers want to tell the untold stories, and later they just want the contract. I know how that shift happens, and I could translate it to a politician.

And then the establishment gets its hands on you, and your ambitions quietly shrink. The gap between what you promised and what you actually deliver just keeps widening, and at some point you stop measuring it altogether.

Oliver starts out trying to represent people who are underprivileged and poor, but when he realizes he can reach a certain level of power, he starts selling out. What drew you to that transformation?

I live in Neukölln, and I’ve lived here for ten years. It’s one of the poorest districts in Berlin; it’s predominantly Arab, and in some corners the only hint that you’re still in Germany is the street signs. Every Arab culture has found its way here and brought its kitchen along. You can eat the best kafta, shawarma, and falafel on every corner. I love the place. Parts of ‘City of Blood’ are set here, and it’s where Oliver comes from. Oliver starts genuinely wanting to fight for people like his neighbours. He founds Aufbruch Berlin for the ones who aren’t seen, who don’t have money, who live in districts like this one. And then, slowly, that changes. Because wanting to be chancellor is a different ballgame entirely.

I recognise that tension. I grew up in a poor district in Hamburg, and I still find myself at industry events surrounded by people wearing jewellery that could feed a family for a few months, smiling and saying nothing. Because at some point you’re playing the game as well, whether you like it or not. That’s the quiet compromise I brought to Oliver — and watching it consume him from the inside was the most interesting part of the whole role.

The political landscape in ‘City of Blood’ is primed for somebody like Oliver. He starts off wanting to represent the underprivileged, then begins selling out as he sees the possibility of power. The public doesn’t know what’s happening behind the scenes—they’re seeing what he’s saying and resonating with it. Then he starts getting manipulated from behind the scenes.

The strange thing about the shoot was that the political climate outside kept darkening, week by week. Especially in America, things were moving in directions that felt more dystopian than anything we’d written. We actually had to go back and sharpen scenes mid-shoot because they’d already started to feel dated. So even though our story was set in the future, reality almost overtook us.

He starts off with a populist mentality and then slowly slides into fascism.

Yes, all the way. There’s actually one line I wrote myself, specifically to mark the turning point: “Everybody wants to come to Berlin, but we are from Berlin.” That’s the fascist moment. We added it during the rework, and it landed exactly where it needed to. The most remarkable thing about filming the big speech was the extras. To set the scene: my party’s headquarters is an empty swimming pool. There’s no water in ‘City of Blood’. It’s 42 degrees, permanently. Water is a luxury.

Populism has a very specific rhythm. You ask a question and immediately answer it. Every five to ten sentences you need a punchline, like a flavour enhancer, something that keeps people hanging on your every word. It’s designed for people looking for simple answers to complicated questions, and it works by never letting the energy drop. Our extras were Czech. Five hundred people who didn’t speak a word of German. Nobody held up a sign, nobody gave a cue. And yet they knew exactly when to clap, every single time. I still find that deeply unsettling. Because it means populism doesn’t need a shared language. It has its own.

It’s powerful, but also dangerous. There’s a sense of dread in that scene, because Oliver has gone so far down that path. Even though there are moments throughout the series where you can see doubt and fear, he keeps doubling down.

What’s frightening isn’t how far someone like Oliver can go. It’s how quickly he gets there. And what travels with him is his following. You see it everywhere in the world right now: people who started as citizens, voted, and radicalised themselves into soldiers almost before you notice. In the series, they literally hand me weapons. “Let’s armour up,” they say. “Let’s go out there and do it ourselves.”

I liked that we also got to see both angles. We’re not just seeing him as a politician from the outside; we’re brought into his internal world as well. We see the doubt and fear, and also the family dynamic—with his wife, his father-in-law and his brother, who is still in the poorer neighbourhood. We see him essentially take advantage of his brother for a photo shoot.

God, it’s ugly. That’s where it begins, the first drops of poison finding their way into everything he once stood for.

And then there’s the manipulation from Johan and the vampires. It gets to a point where you can tell he’s not believing what he’s saying, but his desire for power and to win is so powerful.

I think that’s what it feels like when you no longer believe yourself. I know it from personal experience. You have to be clever enough to lie to yourself and stupid enough to actually buy it. The results aren’t always particularly wholesome. But as a strategy, it’s remarkably effective.

At the very end, in his final scene with Zeno and Bea, he accepts that little shot of blood and essentially thinks, “Fuck it. We’ve gone this far.” If the story were to continue beyond the season finale, where do you think Oliver could go in his relationship with the vampires?

My end looks very much like a beginning. Oliver Lawal is finished. Chancellor Lawal of Aufbruch Berlin is just getting started. Which, as a party name, has always sounded faintly militaristic to me. What happens next with the vampires is genuinely open. Some of them are decent. Most of them we don’t know yet. And that ambiguity is very deliberate, because the question Oliver is really facing isn’t about vampires at all.

The vampires are a metaphor. It’s about whether you let people in from outside, and what you do with them when they arrive. You can read them as the stranger, the outsider, the one who doesn’t belong. Or you can read them as parasites. That’s a matter of perspective. And what interests me personally is the third option: you let them in, you open up, and you grow into something new together.

Because the alternative, pressing a residency permit into someone’s hand with a set of instructions attached — learn the language, adopt our culture, live as we do, or you are not welcome here — has consequences. Those consequences are exactly what we’re seeing now. I think it’s a large part of why people are angry, why they’re becoming more receptive to populism, and why the polls and recent elections look the way they do. A far-right extremist party is back. It’s a global phenomenon, I know. But of all countries, Germany. Disgusting, to be honest. I just hope the pendulum swings back just as hard, and soon.

It’s a global phenomenon, unfortunately.

I always thought we’d learned enough not to keep making the same mistakes the moment just enough time has passed. But human adaptability is an astounding thing. We get used to peace. We get used to prosperity. We get used to absolutely anything, given enough time. And the same quality that helps us survive the worst also makes us comfortable with things we shouldn’t be comfortable with. Scale that across a country, and political catastrophe stops being a distant possibility and starts knocking on all of our doors.

To pivot, there’s another vampire thriller you’re part of, ‘Flesh of the Gods’. You’re reuniting with Kristen Stewart in this film. Is there anything you can tell us about your character, your role or the film in general?

Let me put it this way: it was special enough to get Kristen Stewart back into a vampire movie. That’s really all I can say about the film itself. But the set was unlike anything I’ve experienced. Every single department was spot on, the best I’ve seen across the board. I loved the way they worked, how flexible it all was. Standing there, I remember thinking: this might just be the best thing I’ve ever been part of.

You said you’re on the other side of things for this film. Does that mean your character is a vampire this time around?

There are vampires, yes. And this time, I might just be on the other side of things.

Since you have these two vampire projects, a fun question: If you were given the choice, would you want to be a vampire?

I’ve thought about it a lot; my conclusion is that I couldn’t resist. Even if you stop feeling anything, even if the real world casts you out and you have to hide all the time, there’s something seductive about an existence that is simply not permitted. The stolen apple always tastes sweeter than the one you paid for.

Another upcoming film is ‘Geister (Ghost Song)’, which is opening at the San Sebastian Film Festival. It sounds really interesting.

Yes, ‘Geister’, Fatih Akin’s new film. I only have a very small part, and I should be upfront about that: I’m not the important one here. The young actor is, and the story is incredibly moving. Fatih Akin is a legend, especially where I’m from, in Hamburg. There are things in life you simply don’t say no to. When he whistles, I come running. I play a psychiatrist at the hospital, following an incident I won’t go into further. A character who very much cares about the lives of young men. As we all should. More than that, I really can’t tell you.

Is it fair to say you’re drawn to stories with supernatural or fantasy elements? There are quite a few in your career.

There are quite a few, and right now I’m actually doing a children’s film where I transform into a cougar. So yes, I’d say the pattern holds. ‘Lord of the Rings’, vampires, ‘House of the Dragon’, I love all of it. Because the best thing about filmmaking is that you’re not obliged to face reality every single time you sit down to tell a story.

Even when the story is true, a little movie magic never hurts. There’s something genuinely beautiful about imagining worlds beyond our own. Fantasy lets you breathe. It takes you somewhere else, and reality can be exhausting. Sometimes devastating. Occasionally just dull. Not always, of course. But fantasy tends to be none of those things. The distance it creates isn’t just escapism. It’s also a tool. If you criticise someone directly, they’ll defend themselves. But wrap the same critique in a fairy tale and suddenly people are willing to sit with it.

You mentioned ‘House of the Dragon’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’. Are there any fantasy worlds that you would love to be a part of, whether professionally or just out of curiosity?

Any of them, honestly. All of them. Though I should tell you where the obsession started. When I was twelve, I used to paint miniature figures. I could never concentrate on anything for more than twenty minutes, but for one brief period of my life there was complete silence in my room, which was, apparently, a completely new experience for my mother. I’d sit there for hours painting their tiny eyes, their armour, every detail. Those little figures were my first fantasy world. The problem was they were far too expensive, so the silence didn’t last.

Another upcoming project is ‘A Winter’s Journey’. Anything you can tell us about that? I know it’s been in production for quite a while, and I don’t know whether it has a release date yet.

I love Schubert’s Winterreise, and one song in particular: “Der Leiermann.” Find the version sung by Thomas Quasthoff on YouTube. There’s something about that melody I can’t explain, but I think it’s the endless melancholy. And I love melancholy. That feeling when it’s raining outside, and you’re inside by the fire. The love of sadness. Finding beauty in it. That’s what melancholy is, to me. This song cycle had been part of my life for a long time. So when they called out of nowhere and asked if I wanted a small part, I didn’t need much convincing.

It was one of my first English-language productions, with a lot of dialogue alongside the songs. The whole film is painted in the style of Caspar David Friedrich, and by the way, we share two of his names: David and Friedrich. Friedrich is my middle name, after my grandfather.

I got to work with John Malkovich and Jason Isaacs, both of them phenomenally talented. And the way they shot it was extraordinary. At one point I snuck a look at the director’s monitor and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had to take a photo. On the screen, it already looked like a painting. Now a whole team is actually painting every frame, which is why it’s taking four years. Everything about that project was poetic, in the best possible sense. What was harder to romanticise into something poetic was my financial situation at that point. I was broke, with more bills than I could count, and one week away from being kicked out of my apartment. We shot in Poland, and there was a small casino underneath the hotel. I asked the producer to pay me daily. I pocketed the money and went downstairs.

I didn’t fully know the rules of blackjack. A very kind Chinese gentleman at the table quietly explained them to me. A small crowd gathered. I played, I won, and I walked away with fifteen times what I put in. I was able to pay every single bill. That film brought me luck. I’ve never set foot in a casino since.

The film is being hand-painted frame by frame, which makes the production incredibly labour-intensive.

It’s a little miracle, and in some ways wonderfully old-fashioned, like hand-drawn animated films from back in the days. 24 frames per second, each one a separate image, just to create the illusion of movement. Multiplied by 90 minutes. The sheer number of paintings is insane. And I believe that choosing this kind of labour over the easier path breathes what one might call a real soul into a project, one an audience can feel.

Did you sing in the film at all, or was it purely dialogue for your character?

No singing, I’m afraid. I dance, though. It’s actually quite a big dance scene, and a dramaturgically important one.

Finally, what’s next for you?

I’m heading to Sicily for a few months, through November and into the winter. I’ll keep writing my series there. Berlin gives you a lot of things, and I’ve always been grateful for that. But right now it’s time to let Berlin be Berlin, rest my head, clear my mind, and take endless walks through Bella Italia.

You can stream ‘City of Blood’ on Disney+.

photography. Ruben Nicolas Meier
fashion. Ridvan Cavus
talent. David Schütter
hair + make up. Fabienne Hoppe
editor. Kelsey Barnes
interview. Suhaila 
hair + make up assistant, sfx. Paula Baginski
assistant. Svenja Blobel