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‘Paris, Texas’
A meditation on the dark side of love and the search for redemption
I watched Paris, Texas for the very first time a few months ago. I vaguely remember hearing the name when it was released in 1984, but knew nothing about it.
When a friend recommended it earlier this year, he said it is one of his favorite movies, and described it as profoundly thought-provoking and a rich source of varying viewpoints for discussion.
I watched it by myself the first time, and I was glad I did. It was interesting to be alone with my thoughts about it for at least a few weeks before discussing it with anyone.
I’m often unsure about my own perceptions of art. I see what I see, and then I look to other people’s opinions to supplement that and tell me what it really means or to confirm that my perceptions are right somehow.
That quality of mine made it really interesting for me to watch such a complex movie with only my own mind for company.
The film opens with Harry Dean Stanton’s character, Travis, walking out of a vast desert with a haunted look in his eyes. The last of his water has run out and he appears to have metaphorically run dry as well, drained of the will to keep going.
