Druck: The Art of the Remake

Lily Guenault

Credit: ZDF

When a friend told me about Druck, a series on YouTube that follows a group of teenagers in Berlin, it seemed too good to be true. Easily digestible 20-minute episodes? Regional slang that I could throw into conversations at my Year Abroad workplace? A German television programme that wasn’t a Krimi? It was all that and more. It was the first time I got hooked on a German show in the same way I would on an English one.

I have a habit of obsessively Wikipedia-ing any show that I get into, which led me to discover the most interesting aspect of Druck: it is the German version of SKAM, a Norwegian programme which took young people by storm with its unique premise. Over the course of a week, short clips and social media posts were published in real-time on the show’s website. These were then compiled into a full-length episode. All characters have their own social media accounts, which fans can follow and interact with. The Norwegian series broke viewership records, with fans waiting in anticipation every week for new snippets to drop and it was critically acclaimed too; the innovative new format allowed for complex issues facing young people to be handled in a more engaging manner than the traditional television format. The promotion of Norwegian language and culture was also praised, for example the prominence of Norwegian artists on the soundtrack. SKAM has since been adapted in a variety of national contexts, including SKAM France, SKAM Italia, SKAM Austin, SKAM España and, of course, Druck.

Remakes of popular shows in different national contexts can be a gamble. Take the example of Skins – despite the shared language, the British premise did not work in an American context and the remake was a flunk. Perhaps because the audiences speak the same language, less effort was put into differentiating the two national contexts, and viewers struggled to relate as a result. The Danish-Swedish hit The Bridge, on the other hand, did find success in its English-French and American-Mexican remakes, though some reviews were lukewarm. In the different versions of SKAM, the main plotlines and characters are retained, while details are changed to fit the cultural context. This raises the question of whether remakes can be culturally sensitive when they are working from a template. SKAM has the advantage of being concerned with universal issues affecting many teenagers, unlike shows like The Bridge which tackle each nation’s territorial complexities in a more overtly political context. It seems, therefore, that the combination of universal plot themes and cultural specificity in the aesthetics, soundtrack and dialect was a winning one for SKAM.

Sadly, I had to say goodbye to my VPN subscription in September, so I can only speak for the first four seasons, which cover the first generation of friends at Barnim-Gymnasium in Lichtenberg. Each season focuses on one character, who is very similar to their Norwegian counterpart. The last two seasons are particularly worthy of praise: in Season 3 we follow Matteo (based on Isak in SKAM), who struggles to come to terms with his sexuality when he falls for David (Even in SKAM), a new student. In both the Norwegian and the German shows, the couple face a major obstacle: in SKAM, Even has bipolar disorder and initially pushes Isak away because of it, whereas in Druck, David is outed at school for being trans and subsequently avoids Matteo, believing that it will come in the way of their relationship. Both versions deal with two important topics that are subject to misconceptions in wider society, sensitively and in a moving manner. According to an interview with Julia Penner, the head writer for the series, a fan started an online petition requesting that David’s character be transgender. Anecdotes like these underpin why the show’s format works: the show is about teenagers for teenagers, and its streaming format allows it to be interactive with its viewers. That is why it is able to reflect issues that are important to its audience, even as it follows a template.

Matteo and David, based on Isak and Even in the original Norwegian show. Credit: ZDF

The fourth season centres on Amira, a young German Muslim. She is navigating her feelings towards Mohammed, who is not Muslim, whilst staying true to her faith. The German media has become increasingly islamophobic over the last two decades in reaction to Islamist terrorist acts, such as the Berlin truck attack, and the European refugee crisis. In light of this, having a well-rounded and complex protagonist who wears a hijab is an important narrative to have on television. Amira’s friendships reveal the everyday prejudices she faces, but also the desire to understand each other and the love that exists between them. For example, the girls show a lack of awareness when they all go swimming at Müggelsee and make Amira uncomfortable about not wanting to get in the water. On the other hand, they all come to her Eid celebrations and are respectful and loving towards her and her family. It is in this respect that the show really excels: it never forgets that these teenagers are constantly learning. The show does not attempt to set an example to young people. Rather, it represents them in all their complexity.

Amira and Mohammed. Credit: Tobias Koppe/ZDF

However, there are some elements of the show and its Norwegian template that miss the mark. The first generation focuses primarily on the girls’ friendship group, in which two girls, Kiki and Sam, are only supporting characters. However, Kiki’s character is still given a backstory, explored in more depth in seasons 2 and 5. Sam is never given the opportunity to develop as a character. As the only Black German on the show, it is an uncomfortable reminder of Germany’s consistent erasure of its Black community. The show also upholds certain stereotypes about Black women – the funny, sassy best friend to the white protagonist – in its portrayal of Sam. In the original SKAM, Sam’s character is called Christina and upholds another stereotype: the comedic fat friend who shows no emotional complexity until she is giving advice to a protagonist. Of course, with the show’s format revolving around one character per season, some characters will naturally be less developed. But it’s not difficult to write a supporting character with depth and nuance – if they could do it for the slim white character, then why not for the others?

That being said, it’s clear that the show’s creators are learning from these oversights in the second generation of Druck. In an interview for divers, director Sarah Blaßkiewitz and Season 6 head writer Jasmina Wesolowski discuss centring Fatou, a Gambian German young woman and her relationship with Mailin, who is Vietnamese German. Sarah, who identifies as “afro-deutsch” (Afro-German), talks about the importance of diversity onscreen and off, saying that Druck made sure that its production team also reflected the diversity of Germany today. The writers worked intensively with the actors, experts and the public to ensure that the storylines were sensitive and realistic. They admit that “We all have blind spots” and as such, transparency and collaboration are key in producing a show like Druck. In this way, Blaßkiewitz and Wesolowski identify themselves with the characters: they are always learning, much like the teenagers on the show. This ethos of collaborative learning is what makes Druck so special, and it is arguably what makes this generation of young Europeans capable of radically changing society