Catching Up Pt. 2

I warn you. I am about to use a superlative you may not agree with. I welcome your disagreement so long as you understand that you are dead wrong.

Are you ready? Here’s the superlative:

Wings of Desire is the most beautiful, if not the best, film ever made.

There. Have you recovered? Okay, let me defend myself before you hurt me, okay?

Made in 1987 by German director Wim Wenders, Wings of Desire tells the story of a divided Germany watched over by angels who are powerless to affect the world. They are observers, messengers. We follow two angels, Damiel and Cassiel. They’ve been here a long, long time. Before the river even took to its banks. They’ve been watching, listening and taking notes. Sharing their favorite moments. Each day they come back together and talk about what they’ve seen. Most often their observations are of moments that we humans see every day, but fail to recognize their beauty. A troubled child and his troubled parents. A holocaust survivor. A trapeze aerialist. A hooker. A dying man. A suicide. Each moment is recorded, observed and does not pass without regret, longing, sadness or happiness on the part of the angels. They revel in our lives, no matter how minute and boring we may thing they are.

But Damiel dreams of so much more. He has fallen in love with the aerialist, who seems to be able to sense him. Or sense that somewhere there is a man who loves her the way she needs to be loved. But Damiel wants so much more than just love. He wants a cat. He wants to feel a newspaper in his hands. To wipe off the ink that smudges his hands. To smell the air.

Damiel has a decision to make. Shall he shuffle off his immortal coil, his ability to see and hear all in order to feel? Is he willing to take the chance of love knowing that the ultimate price is his old age and death? As an angel he neither ages nor is at risk for death. But as a human . . .

His decision seems to be supported by a stranger at a coffee shop one cold evening. Damiel sits and watches and this man comes up to him and extends his hand.

“I can’t see you, but I know that you’re there” he says. He tells of life’s simple pleasures. Rubbing his hands together, describing the warmth. “To smoke, and have coffee--and if you do it together, it's fantastic.”

The man? Peter Falk, playing himself. Seemingly, Falk is an angel who has taken the plunge. And his face seems to betray this fact. It’s weathered, but happy. Smiling but knowing and inquisitive. And generous.

Damiel takes the fall and starts his quest to find the aerialist.

Wings of Desire is not a religious film. Nor is it not a religious film. It’s just a beautiful film. From the point of view of the angels, the world is a gorgeous, blue-tinged black and white. The camera floats and soars through their world. As they move among us they hear our thoughts, our troubles, our observations. They listen, they learn, but they cannot change. A man sits contemplating suicide as an angel clutches him, trying to change his mind. Our world, that is, the “real” world, is filmed in a muted color palate.

Wenders moves the film slowly, not trying to rush it. He simply follows his characters paths, rather them pushing them along. Everything floats and wanders. It’s a film of exploration, discovery, sadness, happiness and observation.

Each time I watch this film (and I hope to do so more often as it finally comes to DVD next month) I find myself inspired to write something. To write something important. Though anything I try pales in comparison to the lilting prose of the film. “Why am I me and why not you? Why am I here and why not there? When did time begin and where does space end?" These are the questions the film asks. But it does not answer. It only asks, probes and observes.

No other film I have ever seen has filled me with such a simple joy of being who I am. Being alive. Being in love. Tears stream as I’m overtaken with the sheer beauty of this film. The visuals, the words, the faces, the sounds. It all works. (Unlike the lifeless, soulless American version “City of Angels”.)

You may agree or disagree. You may complain that the film is in three languages. That it is obtuse and nothing really happens.

But you wouldn’t be looking close enough. You’re missing the moments. The simple moments.

A man ties a boy’s shoe.

A woman sings to a record.

A man tromps around in sawdust.

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