OK film fans, last night we detoured into scenes with a particular, bittersweet tone. As a group, the films use a particular emotional connection to a subject to tell a specific story. Films, when they work well, connect with us, with an emotional event we can sympathize or empathize with. Tonight I thought we would take a closer look at the exploration of emotions in film, through dialogue, cinematography and music.
Paris, Texas is a film about individuality, loneliness and loss written by the iconic playwright Sam Shepard and directed by German master Wim Wenders (who also directed the phenomenal Buena Vista Social Club, which shares musical ties with this film.) Both Shepard and Wenders are known for works that explore rage, alienation and the search for answers in the vast spaces of America. It's a film about a broken man where telling a story becomes secondary to the exploration of who he is, who he was and how he became lost.
Travis Henderson (Harry Dean Stanton, in the same year as Repo Man) walks out of the Texas desert four years after disappearing from California. When his brother comes to pick him up we have been with this character for 25 minutes before we hear him talk. This isn't simply establishing a flawed character; this allows us to realize there are depths here which we have only just begun to examine. His brother and his sister-in-law are raising his now 8 year old son and his young wife has all but disappeared.
As soon as Travis reunites with his son he decides to find his lost wife as well. When he finds Jane (Nastassja Kinski) she's stripping behind a one way mirror. The mirror here is important because it creates one of the most emotionally voyeuristic, revealing and compelling scenes ever filmed. This is far beyond the bittersweet scenes from yesterdays post. This is the joy and anguish of the human condition expressed in a stark 20 minute scene. Shepard's dialogue is so sparse and concise that all the fat is stripped away. When the characters speak, all we hear and all we feel are their beliefs and fears. It stands out with even greater contrast now in comparison to many current screenwriters who imbue their scenes with so much pop culture witticism that the moment of connection gets lost in the translation.
The cinematography is so stunning there are enough scenes here to fill a dozen coffee table books with images of classic Americana. We see Travis marginalized, not only by the wide open spaces of the deserts and country roads in the opening sequences, but also against the unforgiving architecture of skyscrapers and 8 lane highways as the film approaches is conclusion. The intention is plain; Travis is a man alone, no longer at home in the cities, but mortal and isolated when on his own in the desert.
There is another scene within the film where Travis, after discovering he has a lead to Jane, begins to walk. Wenders brilliance here places doubt in the minds of the audience as we cannot tell if he may revert form and walk away from his family yet again. Just when we fear he may disappear into the hills he comes across another lonely and angry man, shouting from atop an overpass. The man's voice is passionate, shrill and almost afraid, which stops Travis in his tracks. It may seem an odd choice, but in the greater context of the film it explains what would keep him from regressing. And with the very next scene we understand that Travis has made a choice to stay, for the time being, amongst the living.
This film also introduced me to the slide guitar genius of Ry Cooder, who has since become a composer staple for directors in search of authentic blues that instantly add mood and credibility to a score. His haunting melodies further reinforce the sense of isolation felt by Travis no matter where he stays.
I'll not divulge the details of the ending, but if you have already seen the film and want a refresher or just have a morbid sense of curiosity, you can view part of the climactic scene here. The ending alone makes it deserving of its Palme d'Or from the Cannes Film Festival.
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