Paris, Texas

Tonight, I watched a film I have seen countless times and every time I do, I think it is one of the finest films ever made.

The wide open space and laid-back ambience of the southern states is the perfect backdrop for a forlorn tale of a family being torn apart, rebuilt on necessity, reunited by chance only to be ripped apart all over again, just when you expect a happy ending. 

What draws me back to this masterpiece time and time again is the authenticity of the acting and the direction of the same. It isn't slick. Often the dialogue appears ad hoc, but that's the beauty of it as it feels natural in the context it is set. Dean Stockwell's portrayal of the non-wayward brother to Harry Dean Stanton's wilderness-beaten sibling Travis, is the rock against which his brother can finally rest; if only momentarily. The unconditional love and care between them at the outset is clear but not over-acted, it sets the stall out for the rest of the film. 

It is rightly considered Wim Wenders' finest directorship built on the fabulously rich, but simple story-crafting of Sam Shepherd & Kit Carson. Robby Müeller's cinematography is as expansive as the landscapes he captured, working in harmony with Ry Cooder's haunting steel guitar soundtrack. It won awards in Cannes and the BAFTAs in 1984 and 1985 respectively. 

The film revolves around the chance return from four years in the wilderness of Travis Henderson along with the emerging story of his deeply obsessive and ultimately destructive love for Natasha Kinski's Jane, a genetic trait passed down from his father. 

Often typecast as a road movie, some of my favourite scenes happen during their travels:

• The slow screeching thunk of the windscreen wipers as the battered rental Oldsmobile glides into the rain-drenched car park of a seedy downtown south Texas motel; or
• The eery low wail of the seemingly endless freight trains as they Doppler-shift through the run-down dust-bowl towns; or
• The panoramic bonnet shots taken back through the windscreen while the brothers re-bond through talk of older times ; or
• Travis and his young son Hunter hunkering down for the night in an all-night laundromat - the kind of place you wouldn't take a fancy lady; or perhaps my favourite
• Travis's final heart-rending revelations to Jane through the intercom of a one-way mirror, a set masquerading as a hotel room in a cheap sex parlour.

It is a film where every element of production comes together seamlessly, delivering a work of art that transcends any lazy labelling of it as a cult film. I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if everyone involved in the making of Paris, Texas consider it their finest professional hour. They certainly get my vote.