Paris, Texas

The most beautiful film I've seen since viewing Emir Kusturica's Underground is Wim Wenders's Paris, Texas. It felt so great to be watching a movie where the soundtrack, cinematography, direction, editing, script and acting are harmoniously united and thought provoking throughout.

Two brothers, both married, one with a child, one without. One brother is successful and living the suburban dream, the other suffers a breakdown when his marriage collapses and disappears for four years, leaving his son in his brother's care.

He suddenly surfaces after collapsing on the floor of a rural diner in Texas, the attending doctor finding his brother's phone number on a card in his possession. Contact is made and his brother (Dean Stockwell as Walt Henderson) arrives to convince him to come home. But Travis (Harry Dean Stanton) refuses to talk and is reluctant to return as he can't find the psychological means to face the pressures of the life he left behind.

But Walt slowly and patiently encourages him to forgo his fear and travel to Los Angeles to be reunited with his son Hunter (Hunter Carson). As the two hit it off, Travis begins to dream of the family life he left behind, and his thoughts turn towards a rapprochement with love interest Jane Henderson (Nastassja Kinski).

Two dimensions subtly and shyly debate throughout, both in relation to what's best for Hunter. He's living a happy life with Walt and Anne (Aurore Clemént) and was basically ditched by Travis who mysteriously disappeared for 4 years, contacting no one. But Travis is his father and not everyone negotiates the trials of a struggling marriage convoluted by an unrewarding professional life seamlessly. He obviously lacks certain qualities that are traditionally aligned with conservative conceptions of maturity. But his endearing childlike gentle curiosity is matched by his modest caring dreamlike individuality to encourage you to hope that he can raise Hunter and be a strong father whose sympathetic disposition nurtures his son's gifts.

Suddenly you find yourself embodying the symbolic, keeping your dreams alive through the related possibilities presented by the imaginary. But the real's presence remains a consistent challenge as unforeseen developments, financial predicaments, and social consequences consistently demand dynamic discursive responses, from which a new set of circumstances arises, wherein the framework has been realigned yet is still dependent upon historical spectres whose often misremembered anti-contextual vitality refuses to easily permit any stable sense of well being, and so on. The weight of these power struggles can often be too much which results in a victory for the real who consequently presents a means by which to attain the imaginary whose potential objectivity is decreased significantly (you have neither contacts nor resources but are free to consider whatever you like).

And time passes and co-habitation becomes impossible and the bitter force of the split internally collides with the initial passion of the romance at indeterminate intervals throughout the course of the day resulting in a potential psychological stalemate if there's no alternative which presents itself, whatever it might be.

And time continues to pass and realities continue to exist and forgiveness and explanations begin to discover an outlet which wasn't present during the height of the competition and the option for peace unexpectedly presents itself.

In an exceptionally touching scene Travis and Jane discuss what happened, why it happened, how. Leading up, Wenders's direction leaves us in a state of incredibly anxious anticipation before delivering a patient, stunning, tear jerking piece of temperately crafted cinematic perfection, as the real, symbolic, and imaginary momentarily crystallize.

Soundtrack by Ry Cooder, cinematography by Robby Müller, editing by Peter Przygodda, adapted by L.M. Kit Carson, written by Sam Shepard.