Paris, Texas

The panoramic vistas from the cinematographer Robby Müller are as breathtaking as any John Ford western, while the naturalistic performances and deft narrative structure make this the strongest movie in the career of its director, Wim Wenders.

... An eerie, sad story whose meaning disappears over the vast horizon as if on a highway heading away through the desert.

It's a striking, gripping film for most of its length, with Wenders and cinematographer Robby Muller showing a great love of and fascination for the land -- almost as if their European upbringings had made them slightly envious of the wide-open spaces.

It is clear-eyed and unsparing, and full of the price our way of life extracts from those who can least afford it emotionally.

The movie belongs to Stanton, of course, and it's hard to think of any other actor who can go from Chaplinlike outcast to tragic hero in the space of a feature film.

A rewarding story of distance, separation and ultimately, of renewed chances.

In Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas, Travis is adrift, caught in the comma between the liminal Paris and the redemptive Texas, between lost futures and the impermeable present.

It transcends [Wenders'] usual road movie archetypes and pressing alienation, and it enters the realm of an almost mythic quest for healing and reconciliation after the emotional fallout of masculine violence.



Most of the performances hit every right note especially Stanton, Kinski, and young Carson. All of this is brought together under the management of Wenders who tells a living, breathing story free of contrivances and artifice.

A rare and fascinating experience for those patient enough to go with its slow flow.