Paris, Texas

There are times where I watch a film, think about it for a night, realize that it is one of the greatest things I've ever seen, and I have to watch it again the next day just to make sure. I think the last time it happened was when I saw Antonioni's L'Eclise. Before I saw Wim Wenders' 1984 film Paris, Texas, I had high hopes; it sounded interesting, the reviews were great and I'm a sucker for a good road movie. Wenders has always been placed on the same level as Herzog (my favorite director) and Fassbinder (who I'm sadly unfamiliar with), and, after finally having seen his supposed masterpiece, I can agree, because I had to watch it again this afternoon after being stunned by it last night. Paris, Texas tells the simple story of Travis (Harry Dean Stanton), a man we first see wandering through the Texas desert. Eventually, he collapses in a bar, and the German doctor treating him (someone else who appears to be lost in this world), calls his brother Walt (Dean Stockwell). Walt comes to get the initially mute Travis and fly him back to LA, but that falls through and they have to drive. The scenes between the two brothers are among the strongest in the film. Stanton's brilliant performance and the beautiful photography elevate these scenes to a level of pure genius. When they get back to Walt's family in LA, including his wife Anne (Aurore Clement) and Travis's son, Hunter (Hunter Carson, in one of the greatest child performances of all time), Travis seems out of place. His wife Jane (Nastassja Kinski) left Hunter there right after Travis left, and she then disappeared. After some great scenes of reconciliation, Travis and Hunter drive to Houston, where they know Jane has been living. Travis finds her dancing in a club where she can't see the patrons, she can just talk to him. The final twenty minutes may be some of the most heartbreaking stuff ever put to film, as Travis and Jane try to understand each other and confess their sins.

In the end, mother and son are reunited. The question remains, is Hunter better off this way? In LA, he was with a successful family that gave him complete support, but here is mother is a stripper, and the film implies that she is a prostitute on the side. I don't know if it really matters. I think Wenders just wants them to be happy in his version of America. This is not Stroszek. There is no direct criticism of the American dream; Wenders seems more fascinated with America than anything else. Ry Cooder's stunning score brings back memories of the old west, and the constant focus on billboards and other signs appears to be more out of interest than disgust. I don't know how well I've described it, but Paris, Texas is one of the greatest films ever made.

Rating (out of ****): ****