Monday, January 28, 2013


Awed by the esoterically poetic film, Wings of Desire, upon my first viewing during college. Traveled by bus to the Uptown Theater on a dreary winter afternoon in the late 1980s and watched it with friends. It’s superbly arcane, lucidly confusing, and I was charmed. Afterwards, we went to Figilio’s and I consumed a Morte El’Chocolato, yummy decadence. Spoiler Alert: If you haven’t seen the movie and don’t want to learn about the plot, stop reading, watch the film, and then return to this blog.

The angels look concerned, yet jaded by their eternal existence. The library is their cathedral. I felt sorry for Cassiel. He seemed to be the most fretful about the plight of humans. Damiel is prepared to sacrifice eternity for a chance at visceral experiences. He doesn’t even know if Marion will love him, but he’s keen to try. What an optimist, despite knowing the imperfections of humans. Marion is bored as an aerialist. Will their ennui evaporate in each other’s arms? They seem happy the morning after copulation but long-term relationships must deal with the harshness of reality.

Wim Wender directed an classic film. The script is filled with existentialist angst, though at times it becomes convoluted and too long. Punk beat poet Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds thrash out tunes while the majority of the music is passionate ethereal vocals. It oddly fits together. Tillie, my youngest cat, is a Caver – she always perked up when the band was playing. Mr. Cave certainly looks emaciated and rather drugged out in this film. The hued scenes beautifully contrast the film noir gray tones. There is second part of the story, “Faraway, So Close,” but I have been unable to locate a copy of it at the library. I may have to rent it elsewhere (when I have the funds).

It would be wonderful if the story were updated with diversity. Perhaps it could be set in Baghdad, Iraq or Kabul, Afghanistan. Ang Lee is about the only American director with the poetic sensibility to revisit the splendor of the piece. My life span has nearly doubled since my first screening and I can understand more of the nuances. As a rather naive twenty-something, I quixotically dreamt that I could be desirable enough to cause an angel to give up his wings. I don’t believe in angels or demons anymore…

Fly with me.
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

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