Counterpoint as a Mechanism of Alienation in Wings of Desire

8/10/2019 Counterpoint as a Mechanism of Alienation in Wings of Desire

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Kate Campbell

World Film History 1945-Present

Meta Mazaj22 October 2013

Counterpoint as a Mechanism of Alienation in Wings of Desire

In Wings of Desire(1987), Wim Wenders, asynchronous vocalization of characters' inner

thoughts frequently replaces spoken dialogue, heard only by viewers and several angelic figures

who appear within the film's narrative. This utilization of semidiegetic dialogue grants viewers

personal access to otherwise anonymous characters, effectively elevating viewers to the role of

the angels and facilitating identification with these individuals, as well as the nameless humans

who surround them. However, the intimacy granted by Wenders' application of sound is later

subverted, transforming viewers' relationships with the characters from one of harmony and

belonging to one of intrusion. Perhaps the best embodiment of this Brechtian embellishment of

the disconnect between reality and film is the scene within Berlin's public library. Through use

of contrapuntal sound, Wenders creates disparity between the film's imagery and the viewers'

emotional responses, alienating viewers and preventing them from forming an emotional

attachment to its characters.

To gain understanding of Wenders' efforts to alienate his viewersboth his mechanisms

and motivesit is necessary to comprehend the role of angels within Wings of Desire. These

omniscient, omnipresent beings watch over the inhabitants of Berlin, actings as guiding spirits

who listen to the thoughts of the city's occupants and provide comfort as they go about their daily

lives. The angels, unseen and unheard by the film's human characters, serve as intermediaries

between these individuals and the viewers who observe them. The impulse of viewers is,

therefore, to place themselves within the film's narrative by identifying with and adopting the


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role of these angels. It is this impulse that Wenders manipulates through his execution of the

Berlin library scene.

At first glance, the library appears to be a physical manifestation of the symbiotic

relationship shared by humans and angels, an impression derived from the scene's establishing

shot. The camera pans across rows upon rows of anonymous patrons, each absorbed in

independent microcosms of existence. Immediately, a sense of tranquility is instilled within

viewers, as the slow, almost meandering movement of the camera suggests the library is a space

untouched by outside concern or urgency. This security is further amplified by the presence of

angels, many of whom are interspersed among the civilians. One angel nods, looking into the

camera. Though the act of breaking the fourth wall traditionally serves to remind viewers of their

inherent detachment from the world of the film, the break within this scene instead fosters a

sense of belonging, directly acknowledging the viewer as if they were present within the scene.

Having received unspoken affirmation of their angelic role, viewers insert themselves into the

film's narrative reality.

The act of unconscious identification and self-insertion is further facilitated by the mise-

en-scene of this sequence, specifically the spatial representation of the library and its inhabitants.

Its immense proportions are demonstrated through use of a low-angle shot that moves across the

ceiling before tilting down to show the shelves and people within them. By emphasizing the

vastness of the building, Wenders assigns deliberately religious undertones to an otherwise

secular space. Indeed, the library, with its high ceilings, thick columns, and rows of identical

shelves and tables, decidedly resembles a cathedral. Viewers implicitly understand that this

library serves as a place of congregation for the angels; while previous sequences depict only the

activities of Damiel and Cassiel, this scene grants viewers unprecedented observation of others


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like them. The religious imagery expressed through Wenders' use of mise-en-scene evokes

within viewers a sense of sanctity and rightness. Not only do viewers actively observe the angels'

activities, but they are visually inserted into the physical crux of angelic life and made to feel a

part of it. Wenders' artful application of spatial mise-en-scene amplifies the ability of viewers to

form an emotional bond with the angels and comfortably assume the god-like omniscience

granted by the angels' role.

Though the film's imagery succeeds in promoting viewer identification by establishing an

atmosphere of inclusion, this comforting ambience is quickly subverted through the scene's

application of sound. The most prominent auditory element of this sequence is the semidiegetic

susurrus of the library-goers' thoughts, an overlapping dialogue of internal musings and

observations that pervades the scene's duration in a constant murmur. Initially, the presence of

this sound seems to supplement the comfortable atmosphere of the angels' sanctuary, suggesting

a collectivized experienced among the inhabitants of the library despite their lack of interaction.

In accordance with the scene's religious implications, this dialogue emphasizes the library as a

meeting place, where humans are guarded by the angels who bridge the gap between Heaven and

Earth. This internal chatter absorbs the viewers into the scene, enveloping them into the pleasant

hum of people's thoughts.

What begins as a welcoming murmur of internal talk, however, soon transforms into an

overpowering cacophony of noise with the introduction of the film's music. The most striking

aspect of this scene's inclusion of sound is its background track, a grandiose choral arrangement

reminiscent of liturgical plainchants. At first, the gentle sounds of the choir seem to emphasize

the sanctity of the library, reminding viewers of its symbolic function as a church. Unlike the

religious iconography encapsulated by the library's monumental proportions, however, the


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background music is revealed to do little to perpetuate the initially peaceful atmosphere of the

space. The soothing hum of female voices quickly erupts into an ominous arrangement that

rapidly overwhelms the ambience of the library, displacing its quietness. Short, forceful melodies

instill within viewers a sense of foreboding and dramatic tension as the music gets increasingly

louder, with the rapturous operatic score rising to match the volume of the characters' internal

dialogue before eclipsing it entirely. Perhaps the most impactful element of this scene is when an

ostensibly human child abruptly looks into the camera amid the intensifying din. The established

mood of the scene instantaneously evolves from one of comfort to one of tension. No longer do

viewers feel welcome within the diegesis; rather, the scene facilitates a sense of forced intimacy

that causes viewers to feel as though they are intruding upon a space where they do not belong.

In order to achieve this alienating effect, Wenders utilizes sound as an arbiter of viewers'

emotional responses.

It is critical to note the contrapuntal characteristics of this scenethe disparity between

imagery and sound that allows Wenders to insert his ideology regarding the viewers' relationship

with the film and its characters. Though the sounds that accompany this scene grow increasingly

dissonant as the soothing whispers of internal diegetic dialogue gradually transform into an

agitated uproar that overwhelms the viewer, the peaceful imagery of the library introduced in the

scene's establishing shot do not change. Still, angels around the library acknowledge the camera,

offering reassuring nods and smiles; a shot focused upon Cassiel shows his face awash with an

expression of bliss. Disruption in this imagery occurs only after Damiel attempts to physically

interact with the human world and finds that he cannot; viewers understand that just as angels

cannot completely access humanity, viewers cannot access the film's narrative reality. Only the

viewers experience prolonged discomfort as a reaction to the scene, and Wenders' message is


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clear: they do not belong within the film's world. Drawing from the theatrical ideology of

Bertholdt Brecht, Wenders aims to emphasize the distance between the film's characters and the

external viewer. As viewers attempt to access the feelings of familiarity offered by visual cues

within the scene, they are prevented from fully entering the diegesis by the accompanying

dissonant sounds. In this way, Wenders successfully alienates viewers from the film, effectively

underscoring any feelings of belonging or inclusion with a confrontational soundtrack that

fosters emotional disturbance.

In conclusion, Wim Wenders utilizes contrapuntal sound within Wings of Desire's library

scene to subvert traditional modes of audience/character identification and create disparity

between the emotional responses fostered by the film's imagery and sound. In doing so, Wenders

subjects viewers to feelings of forced intimacy and discomfort, positing them as intruders into a

space that does not belong to them. Wenders reminds viewers that film relies upon the principle

of illusion, a blurring of reality that allows viewers to seamlessly insert themselves into the film's

narrative by identifying with characters or settings. He asserts that it is impossible to bridge the

gap between film and reality. In adopting such a filmmaking technique, Wenders aims to

facilitate intellectual, not emotional, interpretation of his works, allowing viewers to focus upon

the social and political messages embedded within the film's narrative. By stripping away

viewers' ability to integrate themselves into the fabric of the film, Wim Wenders prompts

viewers to consciously examine how conventional cinematic technique manipulates their sense

of reality and exerts preconceived notions onto the audience

Counterpoint as a Mechanism of Alienation in Wings of Desire

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