It is a rare and fine spectacle, an allegory of death and transfiguration that is neither preachy nor mawkish. A work of mature and courageous insight, Northfork avoids arthouse distinction by refusing to belong to a kind. Unlike the most memorable and accomplished film to impose an obvious comparison, Wim Wenders' 1987 Wings of Desire (Der Himmel über Berlin), it sustains an ambivalence in a narrative spectrum spanning from the mundane to the supernatural. This story of earthly and celestial eminent domains in the American West withholds the fairytale literalness that marked its German predecessor in the ad hoc genre of angels shedding their wings with obsequious sentimentalism. Its celestial transcendence, be it inspired by doleful faith or impelled by a fever dream, never parts ways with crud and rot. This firm grounding redounds to great credit for writers and directors Mark and Michael Polish.