Roland Schimmelpfennig

An old man and a women in her mid-thirties: Joseph and Ruby, an odd couple. They are friends, but maybe it’s just a friendship born of necessity: both of them are unemployed and neither is going back on the market. So they occupy themselves as best they can; they are not hunters, but they become collectors instead. They collect images: they collect pairs of dead animals that they have seen on television, names of lipsticks that they were offered in the shopping centre, images from the television as well as pictures from the consumer world, memories, words and time.
RUBY: Someone’s head is smashed in with an iron bar. Someone is shot from behind, someone falls from the roof of a skyscraper after losing a battle, he falls countless floors into the deep, one man has a bullet go into his forehead, into the back of his head, into his chest, into his skin, sometimes the bullet smashes the base of the skull just below the ear.
A metal rod bores through a man around forty through the hydraulic trick of his opponent, he is impaled; women are strangled with stockings, towels or threads of steel nearly as thin as hair that cut deep into the skin; a man around thirty gets blown up by explosives, a bomb, a contact mine, and flies high into the air.