To call Wings of Desire profound wouldn't exactly be accurate. "Profoundly observant" seems more appropriate, as we see most of the film through the eyes of two fascinating documentarians: the guardian angels Damiel (Bruno Ganz) and Cassiel (Otto Sander). Therein lies the brilliance and beauty of Wenders's dream of a film. The wide open premise allows us to see the world (Berlin) through fresh, unassuming eyes.
As Wenders describes it, what we are seeing is "the essence of things", photographed in remarkable black and white by one of the masters of cinematography, Henri Alekan.
Seeing Through Berlin From the Eyes of Angels
There's a loose, rambling nature to Wings of Desire as Damiel and Cassiel go around Berlin, swooping into apartments, buses, building roofs and every other corner of the city where people roam. With little to no back story within the film, we can ascertain these angels are only guardians in the passive sense. Like the audience, they can only observe beauty rather than experience it, and henceforth springs the desire.
The angels carry the burden of being able to read human thoughts, and it's in this realm Wenders and co-writer Peter Handke (who contributed only dialogue and the voice-over poem "When The Child Was A Child") really illuminate what it is to be human. These thoughts (expressed in voice-over) are largely unspectacular, full of disillusionment, fear and anguish.
But at the same time, there's a sense of hope and wonder, which comes mostly through Marion (Solveig Dommartin), the object of Damiel's invisible affection.
A Universal Story Emboldened With the Specificity of Berlin
In conceiving Wings of Desire, Wenders started first with the idea to make a film about Berlin, and secondly, one about angels. Berlin becomes the perfect setting for the tale of angels trapped between the the world of "essence" and the human world (depicted in a decidedly less spectacular color palette). Circa 1987, the city still had plenty of open wounds remaining from the war, not to mention a wall cutting through the heart of the city.
Wenders weaves this sense of history through a seamless inter-splicing of stock footage and the inclusion of a film (shoot) within the film: A WWII-era detective story featuring Peter Falk (playing himself), an actor with an uncanny sense for detecting the presence of angels.
The playing out of the Holocaust on the film shoot and the physical echoes of history left in the city depict a city (and a people) who are stuck between generations, in transition but still bound by limitations (the wall). It's the perfect microcosm for a tale of yearning.
Growing, Forgetting, Learning and Losing Your Wings -- An Angel's Path to Humanity
When the child was a child, it didn't know it was a child. Everything was full of life and all life was one. So goes part of Ganz's reading of Handke's poem, woven throughout the film. The poem hints at a circular idea of life, where to grow up is both to learn and to lose. The children are the only people who can see the angels, but there's more there than the suggestion of innocence.
The adults we meet -- largely just suffering through the weight of everyday living -- have forgotten a lot about what's joyful in life. When Damiel crosses over into humanity, he loses his severity and becomes like a child, experiencing the tastes of blood and coffee, the sounds of rock music (Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds performing "From Her to Eternity) and love.
If any fault can be found in Wings of Desire, it may be in the slightly indulgent, love & destiny conquers all finale. But as an amplification of individual human emotions, Wings of Desire feels right in the exact opposite way its American remake, City of Angels, feels completely phony.
Wenders's most ambitious film is quite unlike anything else that has ever been put to screen, before or after. It's no wonder Hollywood couldn't pin it down. The fact Wenders, Handke, Alekan and Ganz captured these emotions and images to film even once is incredible. Twice would be asking too much.
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