You get a lot of angels in America. As plot devices, angels are more twee than unicorns, but that doesn't stop directors from cramming them into movies. One could make up a list of worst angel movies ever: Pay it Forward (just for including the deadly song "Calling All Angels"), Michael with John Travolta, the remake of The Bishop's Wife -- occasionally I can tolerate them. No old Marvel Comics fan could hate this Rubens painting of St. Michael serving Lucifer an eviction notice. And Tilda Swinton's Gabriel in Constantine is a memorably hostile misanthrope angel. Maybe it's inspired by this little slice of craziness from 1995, where Christopher Walken assayed the part of Gabriel ("I'm an angel. I kill firstborns while their mamas watch. I turn cities into salt.") And then there's the silver-toned angels in Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire, silent mourners at human suffering, hovering at that secular yet sacred place, the public library. But then there's one troubling matter, The Dream Life of Angels, Erick Zonca's French film from 1998 -- a most subtle explanation of how the divine works in everyday life.