Review of Wings of Desire (1987) by Jon P — 06 Dec 2015
Wings of Desire is a classic example of a director battling to balance style and substance, and losing out to the allure of the former. Somewhere in here lies a great film, but Wim Wenders lacks the focus to find it and capture its magic.
We start with a gloomy angel, coveting mortality in a beautifully depressing, desolate Berlin. He's quickly forgotten once Wenders takes to the streets, and then remembered again at irregular intervals when the director snaps out of distraction.
Wenders is plagued by a childlike curiosity and a love of all things melancholy. He's a man obsessed with the sensations and stylistics surrounding the story he's trying to tell. The result is two-hours plus of meandering, moody abstraction and pseudo-philosophy, with the occasional belated revelation or on-key set piece - each of these more maddening than the last in its lost potential to punch us in the gut.
Wings of Desire is an epic poem, with a heart that hangs on a thread, and drifts far out to sea in the second act.
This review of Wings of Desire (1987) was written by Jon P on 06 Dec 2015.
Wings of Desire has generally received very positive reviews.
Was this review helpful?
