Is humankind inherently bad?
Even the most optimistic person cannot help but to build a melancholic attitude
towards humankind, an almost tangible disappointment. Artists are exceptionally
talented at evoking that question through art. Nicolas Roeg’s Walkabout conveys the idea that some people
are forever doomed to miscommunicate, consequently devastating any parties
involved. Lina Wertmuller’s Swept Away
presents the tragedies that occur out of man’s incapability to love. What a
shame, one must think, that this entire group which I belong to must be so
destructive to itself. Jamie Uys’ The
Gods Must Be Crazy, although it is executed as a light-hearted comedy,
nevertheless conveys the sad truth of the monster that capitalist man becomes
because of his implacable sense of ownership. No, no one must be blamed for
being ashamed and severely disillusioned by what has become (and truly, what
always has been) of humanity. After viewing humanity tearing itself apart in
such monstrous ways, one is placed in the tricky position of hopelessness. Indeed,
one may conclude, humanity is a base and filthy thing. But even such claims can
be welcomed with cold skepticism. Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire is the antithesis to this general disillusionment
of humanity evoked by the previous films. Wings
of Desire is a celebration of the condition of being alive anytime and
anywhere.
Once the film is over, the
credits commemorate the dead. Wenders dedicated Wings of Desire to three monumental film directors: Yasujiro Ozu,
Francois Truffaut, and Andrei Tarkovsky (Wenders 2:04:44). Ozu is one of those
directors who teaches how to grow past imperfections and whose excellence is
seen through making the simplest of stories into incredible cinematic
masterpieces that celebrate life. Roger Ebert, in his film review of Tokyo Story, accurately describes the
director: “Ozu is not only a great director but a great teacher, and after you
know his films, a friend,” (Ebert, par. 4). Among the aforementioned directors
is the great Truffaut, one of the titans of the French New Wave. He went from
being a juvenile delinquent to one of the greatest directors in film history.
His The Four-Hundred Blows (1959)
rescued me from a time of tormenting pessimism by showing me that, although
life can be especially hard even for a child, there is always hope for the
future. Tarkovsky is a director who influenced so many and yet he refused to be
influenced by previous filmmakers. Despite that, his films offer an incredible
layer of complexity to life. Tarkovsky’s filmography is not the most cheerful,
but it is undeniably beautiful and the images he creates are unforgettable. Andrei Rublev (1966) is an incredible
example of Tarkovsky’s views, celebrating art in times of darkness and death.
Wenders’ direct influence by those directors indicates a great deal about where
his philosophies are oriented. There is a specific pattern in the conclusions
of the films of Ozu, Truffaut, and Tarkovsky: they are generally optimistic and
demonstrate hope for the future, despite also providing images tough to
swallow. Wings of Desire follows that
pattern. Wenders demonstrates the darkness that lurks in man’s life but
concludes by choosing life over anything. Wenders’ dedication of Wings of Desire to the aforementioned
directors indicates that he wishes to continue their legacy of celebrating life
through motion pictures.
Wenders also celebrates life
through the character of Damiel, the protagonist of Wings of Desire, who is an immortal angel who spends his time on
tall skyscrapers observing the unfortunate heirs of the desolation of WWII, the
poor Berliners. Damiel has the great luxury of living out of time, out of pain
and consequently, out of suffering. Many men would give anything to possess
such extraordinary privileges. Moreover, it is also evident that man is bound
to the pattern of avoiding suffering and increasing his own happiness. What
could be better than not having to worry about suffering? Damiel, the angel,
the elevated creature that lives out of time, decides to shed his unique gifts
to transform into a human. This would seem like a reversed metamorphosis, the
superior creature becoming a lower version of itself, mortal and vulnerable.
But Wenders states the opposite by demonstrating that life is worth living, and
that it is not irrevocably lost to suffering. After Damiel falls in love, he is
filled with an enormous longing for the small things in life. He longs to live
as a mortal creature despite witnessing all the chaos and pain of life, because
love is such a fulfilling and beautiful feeling, and man can love but an angel
cannot. The ability to love, then, becomes man’s greatest gift and most
extraordinary faculty, inciting the envy of creatures that are surcease of
emotion. Thus, Damiel sheds his immortality to become mortal, feeble, but
loving. Wenders concludes Wings of Desire
by stating that the ability to love is the greatest gift of mankind, and
that as long as there is love, there is nothing better than being alive.
Wenders celebrates life by
telling the audience to become proactive and live. Cassiel and Damiel preserve
and maintain reality by watching over Berlin before it was even Berlin. They
are spectators, voyeurs that observe humans and their struggles. Cassiel and
Damiel mimic the viewer of the film. Leigh Singer of the British Film Institute
notes that “Ultimately, Wings of Desire
is a visionary film about vision: the act of watching, with all its
fascinations and limitations,” (Singer, par. 4). The angels, just as the
movie-goer, are fascinated in many ways by human conflict, but at the same time
are unable to intervene or do anything about the people they come to care
about. This is why Cassiel is forever tormented by the man whose suicide he
could not prevent. Damiel, however, breaks out of his state of spectatorship to
have a place on earth and becomes a human. Damiel becomes proactive and as a
consequence he learns to be amazed by the small yet incredible pleasures of
everyday life. This transformation into proactiveness is Wenders’ way of
calling the audience to action. Essentially, no matter how good cinema and
books and our cellphones are, there is a world of life out there, and all the
small things are worth experiencing. In this way, Wings of Desire becomes a celebration of life and all the joy that
the small things can bring.
It is not uncommon to be
severely disillusioned by life. But one can find solace in the fact that people
like Wenders can celebrate the good side of life through art, thus persuading
us that life is indeed worth living. After being spiritually broken by Walkabout, Swept Away, and The Gods Must Be Crazy, Wings of Desire is like molten gold that
joins all the pieces together. Indeed, there are many films that end in an
optimistic note, but it is an empty optimism. Wings of Desire ends beautifully by demonstrating that it is man’s
capacity to love that make life worth living. I can think of only a handful of
films that depict ideas as honest and beautiful as that. Much more can be said
in praise of the film that would only repeat what other critics have already
said. But this film is undeniably a gift.
Works Cited
Ebert, Roger. “Tokyo Story
Movie Review & Film Summary (1953) | Roger Ebert.” RogerEbert.com, 9 Nov. 2003,
www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-tokyo-story- 1953.
Singer, Leigh. “Five Visual
Themes in Wings of Desire – Wim Wenders' Immortal Film about Watching.” British Film
Institute, www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/five- visual-themes-wings-desire-immortal-film-about-watching.
Wings of Desire. Dir. Wim Wenders. Perf.
Bruno Ganz, Otto Sander. MGM, 1987. Film.
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