Harry Dean Stanton is on cracking form here the amnesiac "Travis". He turns up in a Texan clinic dressed in a striped suit, but recalling little for the slightly roguish doctor who helps him after some dehydrating time in the desert to use to help identify him. A tiny scrap of paper in his wallet enables him to, though, and soon "Walt" (Dean Stockwell) arrives to try and get his long-lost brother back to his own home in Los Angeles. As the story now gradually unfolds, we discover that "Travis" has a son who lives with "Walt" but we are unsure as to just what has led him to his current, absent-minded, predicament. Unwilling to fly, the two take the long road trip back getting to know each other and slowly building a renewed sense of trust before he is to be re-introduced to the son (Hunter Carson) he hasn't seen for four years and who requires some answers of his own. The last half hour brings the threads together neatly, if a little conveniently, allowing a few brief appearances from Nastassja Kinski that brings the story of "Travis" and his trauma full circle. To be honest, I found the actual plot rather weak, indeed the story isn't up to much at all really - it's the performance from HDS that is measured and engaging. His flawed character gradually comes out of his self-induced shell as it seems he is learning about himself almost at the same pace as we are - and that makes the film compelling for the most part. It's a story that takes it's time, and watching it I found it did take me a few minutes to get myself into a suitably low gear to appreciate it. It's isn't a plod, or a slow watch - it is a nuanced, occasionally amusing, search for identity - oh, and for a field in Paris, Texas!
