Wim Wenders, 2005, France, Germany & USA, 122 mins
Cast: Sam Shephard, Jessica Lange, Sarah Polley, Gabriel Mann, Eva Marie Saint, Fairuza Balk, Tim Roth
Review by Richard Mellor
In one memorable scene during this latest Wim Wenders release, bounty hunter Sutter (Tim Roth) scans the cityscape of Butte, Montana from a lofty position, for signs of his quarry, film star Howard Spence (Sam Shephard). Sutter’s eyes roam, and then contentedly settle on some detail invisible to us. He nods and moves on, and as Wenders’ film proceeds, we are left frantically racking our memory of the shot, wondering what it was that eluded our vision.
I mention the episode because it perfectly exemplifies the ability of Wenders, together with scriptwriter-in-chief Shephard, to extract values and truths from scenes, situations and locations which normal mortals might overlook. Don’t Come Knocking sees the canny pair in unison again, more than two decades after their cult 1984 effort, Paris, Texas.
And the dazzled, sunburnt look of Don’t Come Knocking recalls that former effort, as do the searing, country soundtrack and opening scenes of a man travelling alone through relentless desert - trying at once to shed the shackles of society and reconstruct his life. But this is a more bitter, more wizened analysis of the themes of Paris, Texas: those of family, identity and the anonymous, but brazenly beautiful landscape of the American West.
Adrift in a rather obvious cycle of movie-star excess, actor Howard leaves his Utah desert set to confront the mess of his life - the realities of love left behind, the consequences of his eternal escape act and an inability to deal with his inabilities. This journey takes him via a first meeting in twenty years with his mother (Eva Marie Saint) onto Butte, and the revelation of an unknown family.
But the film’s intelligent plot recognises that family is not something that can be instantly gained or abandoned. Wenders’ film pirouettes daintily around Howard’s bid to deal with his languishing feelings for ex-fling Doreen (Jessica Lange) and his sudden need to summon love for siblings Earl (Gabriel Mann) and Sky (Sarah Polley) – plus the issue of whether Howard, the serial abandoner, has any claim or worth to his newfound relatives after his impromptu arrival.
This is communicated subtly. Shephard delivers a terse, staccato script where one grunt can stand for ten, and a few words spell out whole books of feeling and thought. Best of all, Don’t Come Knocking doesn’t follow the standard cinematic structure of emotional symphony – there’s no over-the-top crescendo as a conclusion, or a joyous moment when the hero finally finds the words, sorts his life out or saves the day. Instead, this is a masterclass in oral minimalism.
Much more voluble are the majestic images that Wenders’ cameraman Franz Lustig captures. Under his gaze, Butte is transformed from a generic, poor American small town to a beautiful and charming dreamland, filmed in furiously bright light. One resonant instance stands out as the dejected Howard spends a night on a sofa in the middle of an unremarkable urban street. While he sleeps, Lustig’s camera circles man and sofa with increasing speed and energy, watching with fascination as dark becomes light and the town awakens in its slow-paced, routine way.
As a tender family story unfolds, Wenders garnishes his picture with some fabulous comedy. While Polley, Mann and the terrific Lange play their characters straight and seriously as Howard’s relatives, Shephard’s Howard gapes eternally at them, and his bemused look is very hard not to smirk at. This is a farcical character, eternally unable to find the solution to his difficulties, and all too willing to run away from them - generally to our amusement, thanks to Shephard’s deadpan portrayal.
But the best performances come from two fiery-eyed females. First, Eva Marie Saint is marvellously savvy and sharp-witted as Howard’s zestful, but determinedly pleasant mother. And as the girlfriend of agonising Earl, Fairuza Balk gives a wickedly caustic performance, prancing around in charity shop-garb without remote sympathy for her partner’s predicament. While Earl tries to adjust to suddenly having a father, Balk’s Amber is gloriously unconcerned. “This is your father, Early?” she wisecracks. “But he looks nothing like you, sweetheart!”
Such humour, allied with the elegant scenery and thankfully understated script on show, raise Don’t Come Knocking well above traditional indie fare. Like Paris, Texas, this is ultimately not a serious film, but rather a pretty picture that gently kicks around serious themes. Should Wenders attempt something more heavyweight? Perhaps so - but his daydreams sure are pleasant to behold.
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