It is midnight in 21st-Century Germany (GMT + 1). A late-shift worker comes home, grabs a beer¹, and settles in to see what's on television. Channel-surfing, he stumbles upon KI.KA, the non-commercial children's channel, now in its after-hours recorded loop.

After the opening credit, the shift worker is greeted by an ungainly puppet, a sarcastic loaf of bread who informs him in a downbeat baritone that life is hell and that this programme is, well 'rubbish'² - that he, the talking loaf of bread, is tired of television and wants to leave, and that he, the worker, should have better things to do and should turn off the set. 'Go home! Go to bed!' The worker laughs uproariously, and the curmudgeonly children's character has won over another adult fan.

Thus spreads the cult of Bernd das Brot, the subversive entertainer who only performs at breadknife-point ('read this, or we'll have you for lunch!'), whose dour humour belligerently asserts the right of everyone in Germany - child or adult - to be grumpy.

Who is this award-winning troublemaker? Why has he won so many fans in the heart of Europe? Why was he kidnapped? Did he really develop Stockholm Syndrome while in captivity?

It all began in a pizzeria...

Once Upon a Time in Munich

Thomas Krappweis, comedian and stuntman of antic disposition, sat in a pizzeria, mulling over the call from KI.KA for a mascot. They wanted a sheep - sheep hadn't been taken yet - and they'd even asked Jim Henson, creator of the Muppets, for a design. Looking at the breadbasket, Krappweis began to sketch on a serviette, somehow combining the loaf of bread in the basket with the face on the other side of the table. This face belonged to his lugubrious friend Norman Cöster.

The result was Bernd das Brot, the dour but somehow lovable loaf of sandwich bread who complains endlessly, about his life as a failed bakery advert and forced television presenter, about his short (i.e., non-existent) arms³, about the weather (and the need to tell about it) - in short (and at length) about everything.

Bernd premiered on KI.KA in 2000. In 2003, the station began using him in its after-hours tape loop, although the children he entertained were (one hoped) long in bed. Adult viewers encountered him then, and were intrigued by the humour. Bernd became a phenomenon, even topping the charts in his own music video and winning the Adolf-Grimme-Preis, a coveted television award.

Whence comes the popularity of this brooding star of the species Homo brotus depressivus? What is wrong with them over there? Is it something in the beer⁴?

MIST!⁵

Bernd is a gloomy television presenter who wants to spend more time doing the things he likes - eating his favourite Mehlsuppe⁶, for example, or memorising the ingrain wallpaper in his flat, or reading his favourite magazine, The Desert and You. Instead he is forced to don jolly costumes and announce the weather, perform fairytales, which he hates, or do commercials (on a non-commercial channel). He insults his bosses, and they return the favour, often threatening him with outrageous consequences if he doesn't cooperate.

'What happens if I don't read this?'
'We send a dozen kindergarteners to your flat with finger paints.'

Bernd is a welcome figure for children because he subverts the culture's emphasis on fame, fortune, and the work ethic. He gives them permission to be themselves as he resists the relentless and often mindless optimism of his companions, Chili the Sheep and Biegel the Bush, whose faith in modern life and its accoutrements appears to be boundless. Even as they howl at Bernd's misadventures, young viewers hear the message underneath the laughter: It isn't about winning.

Mein Leben ist die Hölle - My Life Is Hell

Adult understanding is more complicated. German humour can often be as dry as unbuttered toast. This is the country whose Mardi Gras celebrations include mock city-hall meetings with the conferring of medals to those who fight against inhuman seriousness in daily life. The pretence that Bernd is a serious figure, an important icon of modern society, fits elegantly into this long-standing tradition of tongue-in-cheek self-mockery.

Further, Bernd appeals to the German sense of down-to-earth honesty. The frowning children's character defends the right of the common man to call things as he sees them, to resist the pressure of modern society to pretend to an optimism he doesn't feel.

As the judges' statement upon awarding the Adolf-Grimme-Preis put it, 'In the midst of a shrill feel-good culture with nothing but hyped-up mega-emotion shows, Bernd the Breadloaf lays claim to...the right to be in a bad mood.'

Some notable Bernd quotes:

• 'My life is hell.'
• 'Have I mentioned that I hate all of you?'
• 'May I go home now? I would like to stare at my wall at home.'
• 'I hate fairytales.'

Abduction and the Stockholm Syndrome

Erfurt, the home of KI.KA, is only 25 km from Weimar, the capital of German classical culture. In Weimar you will find statues of Goethe and Schiller, those two giants of the Enlightenment.

In Erfurt, in front of the Rathaus⁷, you will find a statue of Bernd das Brot.

The statue was erected in 2007. In January of 2009, it went missing. Germans feared for the icon - were extortionists, even worse, art critics at work? One possible answer appeared in the form of a Youtube video that lent the abduction a more political aspect.

According to the Youtube video, Bernd had been kidnapped by squatters - a commune which was feuding with the city at the time, trying to prevent local government from permitting the sale of the disused industrial complex formerly belonging to Topf & Söhne⁸ for development. The video was remarkable for its use of Bernd footage to achieve pertinent quotes, and for the fact that the video author(s) claimed that Bernd was suffering from Stockholm syndrome, a condition which causes hostages to side with their abductors.

Tommy Krappweis issued the tongue-in-cheek statement: 'Free Bernd! The poor fellow suffers enough. I consider abduction, even the abduction of bread, to be the wrong means of achieving political goals.'

German children denounced the theft of the statue as 'a crappy thing to do'⁹.

The squatter group quickly denied any connection to the abduction. The video itself was repeatedly removed from Youtube on the grounds of copyright violation.

About two weeks later, some boys searching a condemned military base for souvenirs came upon the statue in a cellar. Forensic investigation revealed the statue to be genuine, and Bernd was returned to his rightful place.

'Geh nach Hause! - Go home!'

Kafka would have loved Bernd das Brot. Bernd defends us from what one commentator called 'good-humour terrorism'. In a world of manically cheerful talk show hosts and overoptimistic politicians bent on convincing us that all we need to do is to grin and bear it, Bernd stands up for our collective right to call a spade a crappy shovel.

And somehow, he makes us feel better about it all.

For Further Exploration

Those who read German may enjoy this insightful article from SpiegelOnline.

Those who do not may prefer the shorter English version.

Whether the language is familiar or not, one may enjoy many of the Bernd performances presented on Youtube¹⁰ - not, of course, the infamous 'abduction video', but weather forecasts, fairytales, and the like. Bernd will not thank us for watching - but then, we wouldn't want him to.