Kate Campbell

World Film History 1945-Present

Meta Mazaj
22 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

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 miseen-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

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

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

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