Der Himmel über Berlin [Wings of Desire] (1987)

(In French, On TV, October 2019) There are so many reasons why I should not even like Wings of Desire. The deliberate use of monochrome, the stream-of-consciousness dialogue (is it dialogue if it’s eavesdropping on people’s thoughts?), the languid pacing, the improv-style acting, the pretentious philosophical claptrap, the very familiar dramatic arc … and so on. On paper and initially on-screen, Wings of Desire is an almost prototypical art-house film meant for a very specific audience. But gradually, almost begrudgingly, I ended up warming to the results. There’s a subtle grace to the way writer-director Wim Wenders uses a downplayed portrayal of angels to explore a full-spectrum take on humanity, portraying their black-and-white coolness against the colour perceived by the human characters. Peter Falk shows up playing a version of himself (even referencing “Columbo”) that turns out to be a fallen angel. Otto Sander also plays an angel with a mixture of detachment and empathy. But the acting focus here falls on Bruno Ganz convincingly portraying an angel yearning for human feelings, falling in love with a trapeze artist played by the captivating Solveig Dommartin. Clever understated touches (overcoats, libraries, children of course perceiving angels) add to the overall effect, while pre-reunification Berlin, cut by its wall, is shown in stark detail. Even the use of black-and-white has a plot purpose—and I surprisingly found the last colour portion of the film blurrier and less impressive than its initial black-and-white presentation. The film peaks somewhere near its third quarter, both in imaginative detail and in execution—the ending feels satisfying but pat, possibly from having influenced many other takes on similar material. While I don’t love Wings of Desire, I do end up liking it more than I thought, which hints at its more universal appeal than could be anticipated.