The only tension I felt throughout the entire film was knowing that the director’s mother was in the audience while he staged a sex scene featuring an impotent man.
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Paris, Texas 1984
It could have been a magnificent film if Wim Wenders had exposed the self-idealization of the self-pitying, toxic man and the self-glorification of the USA as a myth. But no…
He loses himself in aestheticizing white America, glorifying toxic masculinity, and—what I despise the most—the selfglorification of irresponsible male self-pity as martyrdom.
Absolute toxic kitsch!
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