The Wings of Desire

Wings of Desire (1987)

DVD, Somerville, MA

February 08, 2007

*** 1/2 / ****

by Scott Muoio

Wings of Desire is a quintessential cinematic art piece and unquestionably a major influence on film some twenty years after its debut. However, it is also a tedious and heavily flawed overindulgence, the hallmark of every consummate art flick. Yet, for every fault and over-extended mood contemplation, Wings of Desire rises above as a timeless portrait of longing, desire, and love. In other words, it is all right to watch but even better just to think about.

The plot of Wings of Desire involves an angel, Damiel (Bruno Ganz) wandering among the people of Berlin during the mid 1980s. Along with his angelic partner in observation Cassiel (Otto Sander) the two float amongst other angels and the general human citizenry jotting down in little note pads details of the human lives they oversee. These angels act as observers rather than guardians, only occasionally glimpsed by the most innocent of humans, children. They are immortal, incorporeal entities that have existed forever, powerless to interfere in the goings on of humankind. Through flashbacks we are reminded of the horrors they have observed over the course of human history and on a daily basis: war, suicide, and death. Likewise we are informed of Damiel’s eternal sadness and longing to change, to feel, and to live as only human beings are capable. When an invisible connection is made between him and a lonely human acrobat, Marion (Solveig Dommartin), Damiel must decide if he is willing to fall and relinquish immortality for human emotion.

It is obvious when watching Wings of Desire that a great amount of care and creativity has gone into making this picture. The film shows instead of tells with every image delicately crafted to symbolize, illuminate, or at times merely ponder. Words are sparse with every one crafted for cryptic yet important insight or poetic effect. Color, likewise, is used to enliven, give passion, and emote feeling in a way only it can. And story, like the greatest of “art films,” is given all the time in the world to develop and crescendos only when themes can wait no longer; think Bob Dylan pouring out of Picasso. It all adds up to a beautiful and thought provoking experience.

However, the graceful sliding cinematography as we peer on humanity as the angels do eventually grates; likewise director Wim Wenders’ insistence on showing everything from a full circus performance to a Nick Cave concert. Where thirty seconds of a song might do well and good Wenders gives us three full-length renditions. Art becomes gimmick and when the movie finally reaches its cinematic climax Wenders goes completely overboard with a final speech more maddening for its breadth and obtuseness than it is enlightening or heart warming. But, I suppose that is what art is all about, turning convention on its head and indulging where others must conform, so who am I to argue otherwise? This is what art has always been and this is how art will always be: complicated, beautiful, and slow paced, the best and worst aspects of this or any other audacious art piece extravaganza.