 A film in three minutes, Paris, Texas. The American West, a tragic wilderness of boundless fantasy and harsh reality. Its deserts are an escape, a place to forget who you once were, free from the conformity of modernity. But no matter how far you travel, fate has a nasty habit of making other plans. Just like it does for one man, his family, and the woman he left behind in the Vim Vendor's 1984 road trip masterpiece, Paris, Texas. A beautiful journey of redemption with a bittersweet, yet life-affirming final message on love, commitment, and understanding that I challenge you not to feel moved by. Opening in the wilds of West Texas, the story follows Travis Henderson, a mute traveller suffering from amnesia who, after losing consciousness from exhaustion, is cared for by an unscrupulous local doctor. After finding a note with a phone number belonging to Travis' brother Walt, Walt reunites with Travis and takes him back home with him to Los Angeles, reintroducing him to his eight-year-old son Hunter, who has little memory of him. However, a mystery still lingers over what happened to Travis' wife, Jane, eventually taking him and his son on a road trip that will change their lives forever. A co-production between France and West Germany, and directed by new German cinema pioneer Vim Vendor's, Paris, Texas depicts an America as seen through a uniquely European lens, the epic sense of scale, the stark anonymity of the monstrous cities, the neon-soaked motels, the uniformity of the endless highways. All the architectural facets of this larger-than-life land are photographed almost fantastically, making the mundane and humdrum to American eyes appear elevated into something of a worldly, a dusty, downtrodden Americana, free of its glossy veneer and optimism. But optimism is found in the heartfelt focus on family in the story. Pinned by one of America's most treasured playwright, whose protagonist Travis is not some mythical heroic figure of the Wild West, but an ordinary, unassuming man brought to life thanks to the stoically contemplative performance from Harry Dean Stanton, with the role being the actor's favorite out of over 100 credits at the time. The many moments he shares with his son, played by Hunter Carson, who incidentally gives one of the greatest performances I have ever seen from a child actor, are simply impossible not to smile at for their simple, sincere charm. But smiles will be mixed with tears during the film's touching third act, a stunning emotional climax that seals Paris, Texas' legacy as one of the greatest examples of art-house cinema ever made. Remaking the West from a land of empty bitterness to one of hopeful renewal, where a brighter future is possible if only one is bold enough to face their past.