| 75; 3.5 stars; B+ | dir. Wim Wenders | English | 145 min | PG13 |
A man, seemingly amnesiac, wanders the West Texan desert in search of the family he deserted. His brother finds him and brings him home.
What makes ‘Paris, Texas’ so endearing is its humanistic depictions of memory, nostalgia, and escapism. Travis Henderson, played by screen legend Harry Dean Stanton, is woefully distant from reality, lost in the scorched barrens of America. He is, we soon find out, after something – a relic of the past. In sharp contrast is set the urban backdrop of Houston and Los Angeles, metropolitan suburbs where faces fleet by and nothing really stands still.
Travis is picked up by his estranged brother, and makes his way back to civilisation. His son no longer recognises him and his wife (Nastassja Kinski) has gone missing. One evening, after the son refuses Travis’ lift home from school, the family sit down to watch one of their home videos, shot while Travis’ wife was still around. They are at the beach, frolicking and embracing, young and carefree. Life’s golden hour on a Super 8 camera.
Wim Wenders’ Palme d’Or win was a unanimous decision by the jury, possibly in response to a bleak and hawkish Reaganism then. The film has strong undercurrents of romance and reunion, but is primarily a road movie, meandering through the wider world in pursuit of exploration itself. The landscapes are crisp and colourful, a testament to Wenders’ photographic eye and his elegant mastery of form.
The film is not without its flaws; at times, its nostalgic patriotism rings empty especially for a pivotal sequence near the end. Travis, too, feels like a milder caricature of his namesake from Martin Scorsese’s ‘Taxi Driver’. The general composition, however, more than makes up for this. As genres as diverse as the Western and the melodrama are intertwined, the viewer may appreciate ‘Paris, Texas’ for what it is: a beautiful and enjoyable classic, deserving of modern recognition.