The Myth of the American Dream
In the quiet moments of our lives, when the hustle and bustle fade into the background, we often find ourselves contemplating the essence of our existence. It is within this reflective space that the ancient wisdom of Confucius finds its resonance. The quote “Wherever you go, there you are” serves as a profound reminder of our perpetual presence. It speaks to the idea that no matter how far we travel, physically or emotionally, the core of who we are remains unchanged. If taken literally, however, it may seem like a trivial concept, which may also explain why the quote is so commonly misinterpreted. As we all move from place to place, the one constant is ourselves. And once the newness and excitement of a new place has worn off, we often find ourselves in the exact same place we were before. We can’t outrun our problems, because our problems live inside us. And nowhere has this concept been more beautifully and delicately explored than in Wim Wenders’ 1984 film Paris, Texas.
After making several road movies in his native Germany during the 1970s, with films such as Alice in the Cities and Kings of the Road, Wenders shifted his gaze to the enigmatic and solitary expanses of the American West. The American road movie is a genre that’s deeply rooted in the culture of modern America. Built on the very constructs of American idealism, the genre is one that remains inextricably tied to the identity of the nation itself, representing the values of liberty, justice, and courage that the country itself holds so dearly. The earliest road movies were about the discovery of new land or the expansion of frontiers. Films like John Ford’s The Searchers told the story of a nationalized, national identity in construction. And in later decades, road movies also tried to accomplish a different task, to show a national identity in transformation.
Edgar G. Ulmer’s 1945 movie Detour is an early film noir about a New York pianist who travels along a dark road to Hollywood. The film is an account of a country plagued by individualism and greed, but the film that defined the road movie for today’s audience is undoubtedly Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider. There aren’t many films that have been able to encapsulate an era quite as perfectly as Easy Rider. It was released in 1969, the final year of one of the most important decades for American culture. The 60s marked a time of great social reform, with campaigns such as the Civil Rights Movement and Second Wave Feminism finally achieving the legislative and cultural victories they’d been searching for.
Encouraged by musicians such as Bob Dylan and filmmakers like Arthur Penn, the growing counterculture youth aimed to challenge centuries-old notions that they considered unfit for a modernizing society. Led by the John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert, they appeared to be winning their battle. But dreams are easier dreamt than realized, and the decade’s final years were besmirched by upheaval and unrest, brought on by an escalating war in Vietnam and the assassination of many of its great leaders, such as both Kennedy brothers, Malcom X and so on. What started with the promise of a new golden age ended with a nation in turmoil, and as the sun set one last time on the decade that JFK had once dubbed ‘the New Frontier’, few mourned its passing. Easy Rider is a biting indictment of the self-proclaimed Great Nations’ insecurity, xenophobic animosity, and hypocrisy.
It became a staple of counterculture, and a warning to those who still believe that America was guided by its hallowed, city-upon-a-hill objective. Now, you’re probably wondering how this context relates to Paris, Texas. Well, besides them both obviously being road movies, Easy Rider and Paris, Texas are the perfect companion pieces, because they’re both about the exact same generation, only 20 years apart. The angry youth that once started a revolution in the 60s are now parents in the 80s, and a majority of them are failing to grasp the responsibility of parenthood. The traditional family values that the American dream was built upon were now shattered. Kids were abandoned, marriages torn apart, and the generation that inherited so much trauma from their parents were now inflicting it upon their own children.
Paris, Texas is a powerful exploration of this hereditary trauma and the guilt that came with it. The film follows Travis, a man who’s been missing for four years, who suddenly reappears from the desert. When a stranger manages to contact his brother, Travis is awkwardly reunited with his sibling, who has also now adopted Travis’ abandoned son. Travis attempts to reconnect with his son, and sets out on a journey of retribution to rebuild the family he fractured. One scene that particularly hammers home this theme of fatherhood is the scene where Travis seeks the help of the housemaid, Carmelita, to look like a father. Travis trawls through magazines and newspapers, searching for the image of an archetypal father. The stereotype of the all-American father began to take shape in the early 20th century, influenced by the broader socio-economic changes and the idealization of the nuclear family.
During this period, the father was typically portrayed as the breadwinner and moral guide for the family. This portrayal was reinforced by the economic prosperity of the post-World War II era, where many families could afford to live on their own land, or afford to sustain a single-income household, allowing fathers to fulfill primarily economic roles, while mothers managed the home and children. The 1950s are often considered the golden age of the all-American father stereotype. Television shows like Father Knows Best and Leave It to Beaver showcased fathers who were wise, kind, and always had the right answers for their children’s problems. These characters were not just family men, but were also depicted as community leaders, embodying traits of integrity and dependability. However, this portrayal was not the only example of fatherhood.
In the 1950s, there were many fathers who were not entirely reflective of reality, and often glossed over the more complex, nuanced nature of fatherhood and male identity. But, Travis doesn’t fit this image, regardless of his attempts. His hat is too big, his suit doesn’t quite fit, his clean shave isn’t clean enough, and his hair is still shaggy. Despite Travis trying his best, he will never be a stereotypical father. And this is where the main theme of the film is completely dissected. Just like at the start of the movie, where Travis ran away from his family, Travis is now running away from who he really is, attempting to construct a perfect version of himself for his son to look up to. The very nature of a road movie lends itself perfectly to the central theme of the film.
The open road, which is traditionally a symbol of boundless freedom and the promise of a new beginning, takes on a darker tone in Paris, Texas. As Travis travels through the American West, the miles become a relentless confrontation with his past failures. He can’t outrun the consequences of abandoning his family, and the ever-present desert becomes a stark reminder of the isolation he’s created for himself. This once optimistic symbol of endless possibility now reveals the hollowness of his journey. He’s not just searching for a physical place, but for a way to reclaim a past that can never truly be recaptured. But Vendors expands the film’s scope beyond Travis’ personal struggle. We see glimpses of Jane, Travis’ estranged wife, trapped in a loveless and exploitative situation at a peep show.
Her story, too, reflects the shattered promises of the American Dream. The film doesn’t delve deeply into Jane’s motivations, but her presence adds a whole other layer of complexity to the narrative. She represents the collateral damage of Travis’ actions, another casualty in the disintegration of their family unit. Together, their fractured relationship becomes a microcosm of a larger societal shift, where the traditional family structure is no longer a guaranteed path to happiness. Vendors’ masterful use of the road movie genre serves not just as a backdrop, but as a powerful metaphor for the characters’ internal journeys, and the collective disillusionment of a generation. The boundless opportunities that were once symbolized by the open road now reveal a society fragmented and lost, a generation failing to grapple with the disillusionment that followed their fading idealism and allowing their children to suffer with them.
Through the fractured lens of a broken family, the film suggests that the counterculture revolution of the 1960s, with its emphasis on individual liberation, failed to deliver on its utopian promises. So let’s go back to that quote from Confucius, ‘This quote doesn’t just work on a personal level, but on a societal one too.’ Just as Travis discovers that he cannot flee from his past transgressions and the consequences of abandoning his family, generations cannot perpetually evade the problems they’ve inherited or created. We can’t outrun our problems, because our problems live inside us.
