What a beautiful beautiful poem to the mundane, viewed from eyes on the outside that long to be among the honks and the blood-rushing petit adventures of the human life. And the lighting, the aethetic and the simple but so easily forgotten thoughts on our precious world ....!
Wenders' aestethics reach a high point in "Der himmel uber Berlin": monochrome and colour are used as a storytelling mean and as part of the plot itself. It could have been a story of any given man who feels detached from manking, but Wenders decided for an allegory.
Turns out I'm the last person on earth to watch this film. But really, it was so fantastic for reasons I can't even explain, but since everyone else in the world has already seen it, I guess I don't have to explain.
Structured as a series of vignettes and held together by a camera that observes without ever truly lingering, "Wings of Desire"is a hypnotic and achingly beautiful portrait of a Berlin that never was. Through the presence of angels, chosen to bear witness yet powerless to intervene, the film empathizes not only with individuals but with humanity as a whole and, if only for its duration, forces us to do the same.
So glorious and so magical. The angels stand above Berlin listening in on the thoughts of the people below. One longs for weight, taste, color, the touch of a woman. The camera glides through the city picking up impressionistic snippets. Everything is lit in a haze, and abuzz with life. One of the best uses of narrative through pure imagery I've seen.
Angels exist, and they're sad German men with ponytails. Not so much a story as a silent era "city symphony", Wings of Desire grapples with German history from Caligari to Hitler to beyond, and often times the only thing that saves it from annoyingly inert philosophizing is the beauty of Wenders asking "what would Murnau do?" The final coup: a use of color that that makes a worn-down Berlin alive with enchantment.