To paraphrase Alan Bennett’s The History Boys, the best moments in watching movies are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – you'd thought was special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead, as if a hand has come out and taken yours.

German director Wim Wenders’ 1984 movie Paris, Texas is precisely one of those experiences that stays with you long after the credits have rolled. It certainly has for me. Both his immigrant’s sense of wonder and amazement at the wide open spaces of the southern American landscape, and the personal stories of those who travel through them, are something that, as an immigrant myself, deeply resonate with me.