Saturday, November 25, 2006


Wings of Desire is something special. Angels move around a sepia-toned Berlin, listening to humans' thoughts. Occasionally the angels touch people when they are particularly moved, but only the very old, the frail, or the mad seem to notice these caresses. Oh, and the actor Peter Falk is aware of the angels too, for reasons I won't disclose.

I thought it magnificent and dreamy, like a masterpiece of German Expressionism with the light touches of a romantic comedy at the finale. Like Falk tells one of the angels: coffee is great, as is a cigarette, and rubbing your hands together when they're cold feels magnificent. People don't notice how wonderful these things are anymore, however, trapped in their interior monologues, their endless catalogues of personal suffering and doubt. The eternal angels envy us and we can't understand why.

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