Review of Paris, Texas (1984) by Alice S — 14 Jan 2011

I thought I had this movie all figured out. I thought Travis had gotten into a car accident that killed his wife, and that's why he's mildly catatonic and refuses to drive or sit in the front seat of an automobile.

Well, now I'll eat my hat. This movie is, as Jim Hunter describes, "a long, perambulating film," but I never thought it tried to be deep or understated. There is so much exposition in Travis' confessional that any Intro to Playwriting class would ream it a new arsehole, but for some reason, it works. Perhaps it's because the characters aren't looking at each other. Perhaps it's because Harry Dean Stanton is just so straightforward about it all: his rage, his brutality, his numbness. He's neither overstated nor understated; he's just stated. Perhaps it's because of Nastassja Kinski's complex good girl/bad girl duality. Her coy yet cautious follow-up questions show that she's not entirely naive; she has an inkling about who's on the other side, but she IS still naive enough to will herself to believe it's not so.

Hunter Carson as the precocious, young son is mighty impressive. Hunter and Jane's reunion scene is so unexpected. It's not tearful (at first). It's not resentful. It's not deep. It just is. Hunter gets up, walks over, holds out his arms for an embrace, all at an aching adagio pace.

Lastly, I think I've found a gesture that rivals the inexplicably beautiful woman-putting-on-stud-earrings tableau: woman's-hand-resting-on-clavicle. I mean, looking like Nastassja Kinski might help too.