‘Sometimes I’m fed up with my spiritual existence…’
I’m not an intelligent man. I’ve seen lots of films. I understand some of them. Some of them I pretend to understand. Some of them leave me bewildered. I’ve read plenty of classics but I prefer Stephen King. I’ve eaten at posh restaurants once or twice but I prefer Mcdonald’s. Put simply, I’m not one to take the hard road when easy street is available. Wings of Desire is a good film. It might be a great film. The thing is, I think a lot of it was too philosophical for me…
Two angels wander the streets of Berlin experiencing everything that life has to offer. Cassiel (Otto Sander) is sceptical and distant while the other (Bruno Ganz) finds himself sliding into the mulch of human existence with each passing revelation. Elsewhere, Peter Falk, Columbo himself, occasionally appears playing himself in a performance that is genuinely fucking great while Nick Cave also appears with a pair of incendiary live performances. There is a lot going on here.
While I stand by the fact that I didn’t properly buy everything that Wings of Desire was selling, I will say that as a visceral experience, it is genuinely astonishing and utterly unique. I had moments of bewilderment, but never boredom. This is an essential cinematic experience, like Dogma’s older and more sophisticated brother. Don’t be put off by its arty pretensions (the film veers liberally between black and white and full colour) and instead focus on everything that is great about Wings of Desire. The performances. The writing. Nick Goddamn Cave. Just don’t ask me what it all means.