Looking back at the discussion I feel as if I had done Wim Wenders a disservice. After all, I had only seen two of his films: the absolutely captivating Wings of Desire and one of his lesser known documentaries on Yasujirō Ozu: Tokyo-Ga.
I regret that statement even more having watched Paris, Texas. There's just so much to the canon of Wim Wenders that I didn't even realize, despite the amount that I took in when I viewed Wings of Desire.
Like Wings of Desire, Wim Wenders includes undertones that represent the flow of cinematic history. This is unfortunate for me as a young millennial viewer because I had never experienced those particular shifts present in the film. No longer had westerns been the standalone powerhouse of American cinema. It didn't die, but rather it found itself in a place of transition. Most westerns thrive today because they serve as a genre blender ingredient.
This makes Paris, Texas much more effective given it's time and it's place, not just within the confides of it's narrative, but also as a footnote within the progression of film making.
Really, it isn't too much of a shock. I had experienced the portrayal of this shift in Pixar's Toy Story, where Buzz Lightyear's sci-fi flashiness looked to usurp the more conventional western Woody, but even then it's still a historical representation and not me actually living in that time.
After all, the generation I grew up in seems to be steeped in a gritty renaissance; one that wants to hearken back with remixes and remediation.
So, while Paris, Texas was before my time, I find myself entranced and compelled, even believing that this was a film made from today. Some of my reasoning stems from the fact that Wim Wenders tactfully places these concepts not at the forefront, but rather in the backdrop for a broken family narrative, something that is consistently good to watch in any genre if done correctly.
Like I said, broken families are consistent holders for drama, even in mythological times.
Continue then, on the theme of masculinity. There is a great scene of resounding courage. I'm talking about the confrontation between Travis and Jane. The one-way looking glass in the setting of a striptease serves as a reinforcement of this theme, similar to old-school Hitchcockian moments.
In the first encounter Travis is too scared to even talk. We as an audience understand that. Christian Metz had often cited in his critical writings on cinema that we enjoy films partially because we don't have to deal specifically with what's going on on the screen. There's a barrier, which serves to buffer our passion for perceiving. Think then what courage it takes to deal with what's in front of us. A lot of good films serve a reflection. They present a parade of feelings, allowing us in. Travis is dealing with the same. He sees happiness, but he also sees sorrow in the scene. The set up is there from earlier in the film, when Travis is watching super 8 home movies. He can tell there's a difference between seeing and confronting.
After the first encounter Travis engages in one last talk with his son and realizes what must be done. He returns back to the striptease to do something truly self-less. He cannot have what he had before: the relationship with Jane, but he can reunite mother and son. It's a emasculating moment for him, but that doesn't mean it isn't courageous. It's actually one of the most courageous things I've ever seen any character do in a cinematic narrative.
Even as I write I can't help but feel like I've been staring at a reflection. Strange, I'm not a father, and I wasn't particularly raised on westerns. This is what Wim Wenders seems to do, at least, in the limited amount of film I've seen by him. He makes you reflect and asks if you have the courage to acknowledge your reflection.
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