Paris, Texas

the coloured circles of different lives sliding and moving on top of each other, forming new colours where they overlay. each character sketched exactly right, but with no stiffness, no overworking of the lines. the angel of a boy. the father who unfurls petal by petal… becoming more complex as he becomes more known, almost growing up himself all over again, or perhaps for the first time. learning to talk, to drive, to face himself, his blotchy past. the film crackles and spots. anne breaks my heart. they all do. ahh such is life, c’est la vie, the messy, muddy truth of it. of families, of histories, and the unpredictable consequences of when people collide in love and hatred. and the desert. and the ugliness of LA. the blue towers of Houston, jutting up like an extension of the space station. the boy. his mother. ugh. the CINEMATOGRAPHY. far out. watch it yourself. give it the time. cinema if you can. try to avoid sitting directly in front of a huge group of friends who won’t stfu. and definitely don’t sit next to someone who keeps checking their way too bright phone screen. cinema etiquette guys. really, c’mon.