Duane Gundrum Movies I Want a Hollywood Romance…or an East Berlin one at least

I Want a Hollywood Romance…or an East Berlin one at least

Every now and then I put a movie into my Netflix queue that leaves me wondering months later, what was I thinking? That happened last night when I finally got around to watching a movie that was in my queue called Wings of Desire. To be honest, I don’t know how that movie got into my queue because it certainly doesn’t match any criteria I attribute to movies I tend to add. Going down my checklist, there were no hot Asian women in leather jumpsuits who do Kung Fu, Arnold wasn’t seen once carrying a huge bazooka and chomping on a cigar, not a single Starfleet communicator chirped once during the movie, and even more important, not a single French clown cried at all during the two hours and seven minutes this movie aired (although it was one of those movies where it could have happened at any moment).

The movie was a several hour poetic metaphor on the meaninglessness of life. The two main characters were male angels who seemed to spend the entire movie walking around 1987 East Berlin listening to the mindless rantings of humans who lived in a state of black and white despair. During their wanderings, they seemed to latch onto a huge library that resembled the one from The Breakfast Club, where they went person to person and listened to their inner thoughts. One of their focuses was an old man who supposedly was writing the great American novel in East Berlin, so I guess it was the great German novel. The old man kept talking about how he was the only one who could write down the story, and that without him all of humanity was doomed. And I thought I took myself seriously as a writer!

There are two other main characters that the angels attach themselves to. One of them is a beautiful woman who happens to be a trapeze artist for a circus that is going out of business. This is where I kept waiting for the inevitable crying French clown, but he never showed up. The other character was Peter Falk (of Columbo fame) who was playing none other than Peter Falk who happened to be in East Berlin filming a movie that seemed to be about a couple of guys who have a fist fight in a beat up building that has no roof. I was reminded of the great operatic, Tempest like story that was mentioned by Danny Devito in Throw Mama From the Train, which he describes as “a man with a hat kills another man with a hat.” But I digress. Without getting too far into a plot I still don’t understand (my understanding is that you need a Ph.d in this particular movie to actually understand more than 5 percent of it), let’s just say that Peter Falk plays himself and just so happens to be a fallen angel himself who guides one of the angels after he decides to become human.

And the reason the angel decides to become human is because he falls in love with the trapeze artist. And that’s what I wanted to talk about with this post. You see, when he finally becomes human and can experience love, he goes into this punk rock music hall she goes to every night and sits at the bar while the “concert” is going on. I won’t describe the music, other than it was the most bizarre music rendition of punk I’ve ever seen, and all I can say is that I believe the director had to be a fan, or the lead singer was his son, or something like that, because I spent more time trying to figure out how the lead guitarist was actually producing the sounds that were coming from his musical device. Anyway, the beautiful trapeze artist leaves the music area and goes into the bar where the angel is sitting, plops down on the seat next to him, and then begins to explain for the next twenty minutes why she is empty inside and needs to find the solution to pi or something like that. To be honest, I had trouble following what she was saying because it had to be the longest data dump I’ve ever experienced from one individual. The angel said nothing, and when it was done, he kissed her, and somehow they managed to live their entire lives metaphorically forever together.

And this got me thinking, how come East Berlin women don’t sit down next to me in bars, pour their heart out to me for about twenty minutes without me having to say anything, and then we live happily ever after? Is it because I don’t know Peter Falk? Do you have to be an angel to make this happen? Or am I missing something here. How come when a woman like that sits down next to me, and I say, “hi, I’m Duane” it’s usually followed up with: “Oh, I have a boyfriend.”?

Movies like this keep making me think that somehow I just haven’t got it all figured out, and that bothers me. Is something this epic only possible if you happen to live in some Communist country that is about to transition to democracy and future unification? Where are all the unemployed trapeze artists that I seem to be seeking?

Anyway, interesting movie. I’d recommend it if there had been a crying French clown involved. Not surprisingly, there are too few movies being made these days with crying French clowns. And that’s just sad.

One thought on “I Want a Hollywood Romance…or an East Berlin one at least”

  1. Pretty nice post. I just stumbled upon your blog and wanted to say that I have really enjoyed browsing your blog posts. In any case I’ll be subscribing to your feed and I hope you write again soon!

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