★★★: Paris, Texas by Wim Wenders

I watched this movie in bed, on my tiny phone screen. I had read reviews beforehand, but I don’t think any synopsis could do this film justice. 

To me, dutch cinematographer Robby Müller carried this entire film on his shoulders. The shot composition renders middle America in a more authentic light than I thought possible; as an Arab who has never set foot anywhere west of Europe, I felt genuinely immersed. The focus is taken away from the stereotypical fabricated starlight of LA and New York, and instead, you are given man amidst endless desert, towered over by the watchful eyes of faraway mountains. 

This film lulls in the middle, slows its pace as the characters adapt and readjust. In most cases, my boredom would outweigh my will to keep watching, but the outlandish beginning gave me hope for a crescendo; I’m glad I waited it out, because the ending more than made up for it. The scene with Travis and Jane in that little peep-show booth is a godly mix of brilliant writing, performances, and cinematography. It’s heart-wrenching, but also very satisfying, like antiseptic poured on an open wound; everything is as it should be, even if what it should be and what you wished it would be are two very different things. The overlaid silhouettes made my fragile wannabe-film-student heart very, very happy. 

I have a couple critiques: the foreign doctor towards the beginning is a horrible actor, and Anne’s character came off as extremely lacking in depth and instead only utilized as a device to further the subplot. 

I understand why people give this film high ratings; but my main issue is that I couldn’t bring myself to identify or otherwise truly connect with the characters, which isn’t necessarily the filmmakers’ fault.
 
The film closes with an extremely vibrant shot of Travis, his truck, and the setting sun, almost a direct parallel to his wandering figure in the washed out desert. He is alone both times, but in two starkly different ways.


 

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