A German journalist, Philip Winter, wanders through America on a quest to uncover the secrets of the country, but soon finds himself in the midst of writers block, completely incapable of articulating what he sees most prevalent. He carries with him a camera in an attempt to capture the essence of the places he visits, but a portfolio of polaroids fails to satisfy his seedy boss. Winter is forced to return to Germany, and while booking a flight he meets a German woman and her nine year old daughter, Alice.
The three of them spend the night together waiting for their flight, but soon the mother disappears and leaves Winter in sole possession of her daughter. With the request of taking Alice to Germany, where the mother promises she will soon follow, Winter soon realizes that Alice is his responsibility for indefinitely longer than he anticipated (or hoped). Once they arrive in Germany, Alice's memory falters as to their exact destination, leading them on a whimsical journey filled with innocence, disappointments, tears, and magical twists.
Wenders' black and white film includes striking cinematography that augments Winter's strategic framing of his carefree pictures. The long, languid shots of American coasts and the juxtaposition of melancholy cafes and trains moving through busy cities is reflective of the transitory phases that punctuate this films surprising narrative.
The actors create and embody such realistic portrayals that it becomes impossible to separate oneself from their heart-twinging stories. Alice perfectly captures the innocence of a child (more importantly the desperation of an abandoned child), and Philip Winter takes the audience through an uncertain progression of his ability to rise to the ever-increasing expectations. Brilliantly crafted, just-so ambiguously ended, and wonderfully acted, Alice in den Stadten shows us that naivete is precariously negotiated by many ages, through many moments, and doesn't end with the rolling of the credits.
five.
