Der Himmel über Berlin

I don’t mind it if a movie contains some poetic elements. But in this one, I didn’t understand those texts at all. I mean I did understand bits here and there but then it turned into such poetic language where metaphors followed each other in quick succession and it was quite hard to make something meaningful out of it. Nevertheless, I do admit there is a lot of great quality in the film – especially in terms of filmmaking. Every now and then I caught myself simply staring at some of the shots. For instance, the traffic accident on the bridge. I felt as if I was standing there on the bridge and as if I had been part of that accident. But for that to be true the angel Bruno Ganz wouldn’t have to be there – he was undoubtedly genius, but he spoiled the realistic aspect of the movie completely for me and moved the entire movie towards the magical. (01.12.2015)

Groping the wrinkled soul of cold Berlin. One of the testaments to the greatness of film in general. I guess another medium wouldn't have sustained this new age spiritualist poem about the diversity of the everyday. (14.07.2019)

I heard the sound of angels' wings. But it was rustling too far away from me, so it didn't take me into its world. Wings of Desire will therefore remain just a concept for me, meaning a legendary film that symbolizes boredom, which acts unbearably coldly in its narrative superiority and which is too drawn-out to adequately reach the viewer. Moreover, the philosophical storyline that life is perfect and worth experiencing is strongly unconvincing here, and basing it on the fact that the last word belongs to Peter Falk at a buffet table simply doesn't convince me. And that's where I could end my review, but Wim Wenders is a cunning fox who started the final act with a hypnotic scene in a music club, and the pace does not flag all the way through to the end. This gives many acting opportunities to Bruno Ganz, who up until then had just been benevolently watching, and finally I wanted to understand the angel's motivations. There are many scenes I dislike for their unnecessary nature, yet on the other hand, certain scenes just a few seconds long (the prostitute, the suicide) smell almost of genius. I cannot unravel the whole knot of Wenders' thoughts. In other words, he has my respect, but not my favor. (21.09.2007)

It's a beautiful film. I couldn't believe that a remake like City of Angels came out of it. Compared to this, the American remake is really just a flat romance, albeit a touching one that can get to you. Here, the focus isn't so much on the romance; the film is multi-layered, entertaining, and overall just unique in its concept and execution. (25.01.2016)

“Isn’t that Columbo?” Informed by the European film avant-garde, Wim Wenders for once suppressed his admiration for American culture and, with an ignorant child’s astonishment at the world, set out into the streets of his homeland's capital. He lets himself be enchanted along with us. We hear what the angels hear, we see what Henri Alekan’s heavenly camera captures. But we can't touch. We are everywhere, we are nowhere. We are spectators. How can respect for cinema be expressed more kindly? (Who does an angel ask to tell him about the world? A film actor, naturally.) Sound replaces unattainable touches, surrounding and absorbing us, taking us by the hand and leading us. Illusory touches accompany us, and we are called to real touches. Find your own angel, or look with different eyes at the one under whose wings you are already hiding. 85% (10.06.2019)