Tag: Paris Texas

The 10 Best Slow-Burn Romance Films

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Looking for love? You’ve come to the right place. Why go to a singles bar or a farmer’s market when you could stumble into a slow-burn romance from the comfort of your own home? After all, who’s got the time for a chaotic and messy love affair? With bills to pay and deadlines to hit, who wouldn’t choose a quiet and consistent love over something explosive and short-lived? Less of a headache to manage. Not all love is incendiary; sometimes it starts with a little spark rather than emotional gasoline, but as the years pass, the flames burn all the hotter. These 10 best slow-burn romances? Each one is a cinematic bonfire.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire

(Pyramide Films)

Directed by Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire is peak period romance. Set in the 18th century on a remote French island, the film revolves around Marianne and Héloïse—the flint and tinder for the ultimate sapphic slow-burn. Hired to paint Héloïse’s portrait before she’s married off to a nobleman, Marriane spends hours each day gazing into the stunning face of her subject, and that subject studies her with equal intensity. You know that Nietzsche quote about abysses and their penchant for staring into you? In this case, the abyss in question is Héloïse’s eyes, reflecting Marianne’s hidden desires back at her. A dreamlike portrait of love painted against a rugged coastline, this film is as flammable as an oil painting and equally beautiful to look at.

Paris, Texas

(Argos Films)

Directed by Wim Wenders, Paris, Texas features a romance so slow-burning that you won’t even notice it until the film’s finale. It’s the story of Travis Henderson, a man wandering the west Texas wilderness with nothing but a gallon water jug for company. After collapsing at a gas station, Travis is rescued by his estranged brother and taken back to California, where his young son Hunter has been waiting for him for four years. While Hunter’s mother doesn’t appear until the final act, her absence is felt throughout the film, which culminates in a devastating reunion between two old flames, ignited one last time. What drove Travis and his long-lost beloved apart? Financial hardship? Emotional neglect? Maybe something deeper still, the weight of repressed desires bubbling up to the surface and blasting the pair apart. Be warned, this film is a real tear-jerker.

Carol

(The Weinstein Company/ StudioCanal UK/Scanbox Entertainment)

Adapted from Patricia Highsmith’s The Price of Salt, Todd Haynes’ Carol is the story of Therese Belivet, a struggling young photographer whose days of retail worker hell are brightened by the appearance of the titular soon-to-be divorcee. Though Carol and Therese are over a decade apart in age and involved with men, these romantic obstacles are merely fuel for their slow-burning fire. Set in the mid-20th century, Carol is a quiet rebellion against a heteronormative world. While Therese and Carol can’t burn their closed-minded society to the ground, they can at least tend a flame of resistance with every stolen kiss and glance. And while all ten of the slow-burning films on this list are pop culture touchstones, Carol is the only one that launched its own internet meme—”they’re lesbians, Harold.” Yes, Harold, they are, and there’s is one of the greatest love stories of all time.

In the Mood for Love

(Block 2 Pictures)

Directed by Wong Kar-wai, In the Mood for Love isn’t just one of the greatest slow-burn romances of all time, it’s one of the greatest films ever made. Set in early 1960s Hong Kong, the film follows next-door neighbors Chow and Su, who learn that their respective spouses are having an affair. As the pair piece together the details of their lovers’ infidelity, a slow-burning spark ignites between them. The ultimate romantic tragedy, In the Mood for Love is the culmination of missed connections and unspoken desires. Despite being perfect for one another, Chow and Su’s turbulent emotions cause them to continually blow past each other. We are the sum of all our past lovers, and sometimes those past lovers leave serious marks. Sometimes, we’re hurt so bad that we can’t heal in time for new love to take root. Chow and Su are both holding a candle for each other, but they keep turning away.

Only Lovers Left Alive

(Sony Pictures Classics)

Directed by Jim Jarmusch, Only Lovers Left Alive is the story of Adam and Eve—not the biblical apple eaters, but a vampire couple whose love story is equally ancient. Living on opposite ends of the world, the pair are attempting to keep their spark alive by any means necessary. Spending your life with the person you love most in the world sounds romantic, but when that life could potentially last forever, you’ve gotta get creative to keep the romance feeling fresh. In this case, that means wandering Tangiers, working on rock albums, and trying to resist the urge to commit suicide. An existential meditation on romance and un-life, this film questions whether or not everlasting love is really all it’s cracked up to be. Slow-burn? Adam and Eve have kept the flame alive for centuries, and may have to tend it for millenia more.

Lost In Translation

(Focus Features)

Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation proves that some of the brightest slow-burns burn briefly. Aging movie star Bob Harris has come to Japan to shoot whiskey commercials and get some distance from his failing marriage. Meanwhile, young Yale graduate Charlotte is stuck with her husband, a famous photographer who often leaves her alone. After commiserating at their hotel bar, Bob and Charlotte strike up an unlikely relationship—one not founded on physical chemistry, but emotional fulfillment. The only two members of their own secret lonely hearts club, Bob and Charlotte grow closer through late-night conversation and sake-fueled karaoke performances. Will they end up together? Probably not. Should they? Debatable. Will you want them to? Absolutely yes.

Pride and Prejudice

(Focus Features)

An adaptation of the most influential slow-burn romance novel ever penned, Joe Wright’s Pride and Prejudice is an equally seminal piece of romance cinema. Unless you’ve been living under a rock the size of Mr. Darcy’s ego at novel’s beginning, you’re familiar with the gist of its sweeping enemies-to-lovers plot. One could say that Darcy and Elizabeth were burning for one another at their first meeting, but the fuel of that fire changed from hate to love by the story’s end. As the pair slowly begin to let go of their negative preconceptions each other, they create room for affection to grow. When that pair consists of Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen, the film’s audience is sure to be equally smitten.

If Beale Street Could Talk

(Annapurna Pictures)

Directed by Barry Jenkins, If Beale Street Could Talk isn’t a “will they/won’t they” sort of slow-burn, it’s a “how can this fire possibly stay alive?” Told through a series of non-linear flashbacks, the film follows childhood friends turned lifelong lovers Tish and Fonny, whose relationship is tested by the cruel realities of a corrupt justice system. Arrested for a horrific crime he didn’t commit, Fonny is left to languish in prison, while Tish attempts to convince an uncaring world of her lover’s innocence. Though the film refuses to shy away from the brutal realities that people of color face in the United States carceral system, it’s ultimately a tender testament to the resilience of love. Despite the years, the distance, and the devastation, the fire never goes out.

Millennium Actress

(The KlockWorx)

Directed by Satoshi Kon, Millennium Actress isn’t your traditional slow-burn romance—Kon is anything but traditional, after all. The plot follows two documentarians who are set to interview Chiyoko Fujiwara, a famous Japanese actress who mysteriously vanished from the spotlight decades before. As the pair piece together the details of the now-elderly Chiyoko’s life, they learn that her illustrious career wasn’t fueled by artistic ambition, but by unfulfilled love. After falling head over heels for a runaway political dissident as a teen, Chiyoko took a job as an actress to travel the world in search of him. The slow-burn romance in this film is fueled entirely by Chiyoko’s devotion; she holds a candle for her lost lover across the decades, hoping to be reunited someday. But does Chiyoko truly love the mysterious man whose name she never learned, or just the pursuit of him? Maybe a little of both? That’s something for the documentary crew to figure out.

Past Lives

(A24)

Directed by Celine Song, Past Lives is the story of Na Young and Hae Sung, whose slow-burn connection was sparked when they were twelve years old. Separated after her parents moved away from South Korea, Na Young, now renamed Nora, discovers that Hae Sung has been looking for her for over a decade. The pair attempt to reconnect, but distance and other relationships continually prevent them from rekindling their love. The film is a meditation on the concept of inyeon—an untranslateable Korean word for a love that has lasted across past lives. Nora and Hae Sung may not end up together in this lifetime, but they’re destined for one another in the next, or perhaps the next after that. This is a slow-burn romance of cosmic proportions.

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Sarah Fimm

Sarah Fimm (they/them) is actually nine choirs of biblically accurate angels crammed into one pair of $10 overalls. They have been writing articles for nerds on the internet for less than a year now. They really like anime. Like… REALLY like it. Like you know those annoying little kids that will only eat hotdogs and chicken fingers? They’re like that… but with anime. It’s starting to get sad.

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Sarah Fimm

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February 16, 2026
Beyoncé’s Recent White-ification Now Makes Plenty of Sense in the Wake of Her Country Album Announcement

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At the end of a Verizon commercial during the Super Bowl on February 11th, Beyoncé announced that the world was ready for her new music to drop (thanks, of course, to the strong internet network that only Verizon can provide). And while some might have hoped that Renaissance Act II might be a continuation of the house flavor she repurposed from artists like Robin S. and, yes, even Madonna, on Renaissance, it is instead slated to be a country album. This declared on the heels of Lana Del Rey making a similar announcement about “going country” for her next record, titled, what else, Lasso. Because, yeah, what the U.S. needs now is more people confirming it’s a place for shitkickers.

Many might have speculated Beyoncé was going to keep running with this cowgirl shtick for Act II, but perhaps thought said shtick might also maintain the house stylings present on Act I. Those with a more perspicacious eye, however, could have detected a genre shift based on Yoncé’s “color shift” in recent months. And what with frequently citing Michael Jackson as an influence, it can come as no surprise that Bey has also taken apparent inspiration from his propensity for skin lightening. As a woman who, like Jackson, has forged her empire on Blackness and what it means to be Black, the increased and not so gradual bleaching of her skin feels particularly traitorous. After all, this is the same woman who has a song called “Brown Skinned Girl.”

These days, though, she’s looking light taupe at best and “tan for a white person” at worst. But now, with the confirmation of her transition to country (because everyone must presently copy the “old Taylor” for some reason), her whitening suddenly makes all the sense in the world. After all, country is still the whitest genre you know, no matter how much Beyoncé tries to “funk-ify” it (to use a white person’s euphemism), or how much she might later bill it as “reclaiming the Black origins of the genre” (as was her intention with “taking back” house music for Renaissance). Doing her best to show us that she can with the first two offerings she’s revealed from the record, “Texas Hold ‘Em” and “16 Carriages.” It is the former that many are attempting to bill as a “Daddy Lessons” redux. But no, it’s so much less listenable than that. And “Daddy Lessons” (a recent appropriate favorite of Britney Spears to dance in her living room to) is, obviously, more tolerable because it serves as an irreverent sonic divergence from the rest of Lemonade, which, to be frank, is the most country-sounding Beyoncé should ever allow herself to get (complete with Jack White helping her out on “Don’t Hurt Yourself”).

As for “16 Carriages,” it is a slowed-down “ballad”—or, more accurately, Beyoncé finding a way to play up her “rough” childhood spent seeking fame and essentially being pimped out (after being “invested in”) by her parents in a manner similar to the abovementioned Spears. With regard to the lyrics, “Sixteen carriages driving away/While I watch them ride with my fears away/To the summer sunset on a holy night/On a long back road, all the tears I fight,” that word, “carriage,” can refer both to the tour buses she rode while still in the germinal days of Destiny’s Child as well as the “country-centric” type of carriage that refers to the frame of a gun supporting its barrel. And yes, needless to say, Beyoncé already packs a pistol, of sorts, for her “Texas Hold ‘Em” visualizer, featuring three minutes and fifty-seven seconds of the whitest version of Yoncé yet forming her thumb, index and middle finger into a gun as sparks shoot out of it. All while wearing tights with black underwear over them and little else up top. A pair of reflective sunglasses with a winding snake over one of the lenses rounds out the look with a “Swiftian flair” (since everyone knows snakes have been “her thing” since Reputation…even if they were Britney Spears’ first by sheer virtue of the “I’m A Slave 4 U” performance at the 2001 VMAs).

The trailer for the album itself is a nod to Texas, displaying an overt homage to Paris, Texas (again, more Lana Del Rey shit on Beyoncé’s part) not only via the desolate desert landscape with its many electrical towers, but also the Harry Dean Stanton-esque man in the red baseball hat (though some conspiracy theorists might interpret its presence as some kind of subliminal “support” for Trump). So again, some super white references. The opening to the trailer itself harkens back to the vibe of Beyoncé driving away in the Pussy Wagon with Lady Gaga in the video for 2010’s “Telephone,” with Beyoncé capitulating to playing sidekick at a time of “Gaga supremacy.” But Bey doesn’t seem intent on staying in the Lone Star State by any means, slamming on the gas pedal as she approaches a billboard of herself waving what appears to be goodbye, rather than hello. The “hoedown” tone of the song commences with the lines, “This ain’t Texas, ain’t no hold ‘em” in a manner that smacks, in its own way, of Elton John declaring, “You know you can’t hold me forever.” Beyoncé certainly seemed to feel that way about her home state, jumping at the chance to ascend the ladder of fame as she drifted further and further from whence she came (no rhyme intended). Physically and emotionally.

And yet, once a person like her reaches such a stature, there’s nothing left to do but “look back.” Reflect on the roots that one abandoned in order to mine “fresh” material. Even though, as usual, Beyoncé is incapable of writing a song entirely on her own. Just as, of late, she seems to be incapable of coming up with an original idea, “persona-wise.” For it’s only too familiar, this “disco-fied cowgirl” thing she has going on. Or, let’s say, “ghetto fabulous” (though it’s probably no longer allowed). This also being the aesthetic Madonna already gave us in 2000 with Music. Indeed, even Madonna has moved beyond the look she herself cultivated by stripping it down to a more conventional cowboy appearance (minus the massive, cartoonish cowboy hats she and Bob the Drag Queen sport) for Act III of The Celebration Tour, which hinges thematically on “Don’t Tell Me,” her most cowboy-oriented visual of Music. And, as a Midwestern gal, returning to this aspect of herself makes sense. Some might say it does for Beyoncé, too. As a “Texan gal.” But we all know she wasn’t exactly vibing (least of all in 80s-era America) with the hoedown life or “hick culture” (an oxymoron, to be sure) until now, when it served her “musical inspiration” purpose.

Funnily enough, in 2016, as Beyoncé was starting to fully embrace her Blackness as a “brand” with the release of “Formation,” there was an SNL sketch that made fun of how white people were finally starting to realize she was Black. Now, it seems the tables have turned again, and Bey has gone back to her pandering-to-whites roots. Not only by releasing a country record, but by literally becoming white. And, to quote another lyric from “Texas Hold ‘Em,” “That shit ain’t pretty.”

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Genna Rivieccio

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February 12, 2024
A Tale of Two Parises: Lana’s and Taylor’s/(So-Called) Whites’ and Arabs’

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The outskirts of Paris continue to burn in the wake of another grotesque (but sadly, not unfathomable) instance of police brutality. And this on the heels of Paris itself already burning after the nonstop protests against Macron raising the retirement age from sixty-two years old to sixty-four years old as a result of invoking the notorious article 49.3 of the French constitution, which allows the president to enact a law without a vote from parliament. A parliament that would have surely caused, at the bare minimum, a deadlock on any such vote—with the ideological divide between left and right being pretty much the same in any country. And yet, as far as Taylor Swift and Lana Del Rey are concerned, “Paris” still signifies nothing but romance and (false) idealization. Even if both women are referring to two entirely different Parises altogether. Just as, depending on your skin tone, two versions of Paris exist.

It would be nice to say that one of the chanteuses is actually referring to the “real” Paris—that is, the one where a police officer will shoot a teen of North African (a.k.a. Arab) descent named Nahel Merzouk while he’s pulled over for a traffic violation. Of course, many people won’t count Nanterre as part of Paris or its long-standing racism. But to exclude the “suburbs” of Paris from considering what the city “means” is an all-too-common mistake. One that allows romanticism to persist in the face of blatantly ignoring that Paris is no Disneyland (despite being home to Euro Disney a.k.a. Disneyland Paris…appropriately enough, also located in the city’s outskirts).

Nonetheless, Swift is the first to equate “Paris” with some sort of fantasy realm where reality can be avoided. Her “reality” consisting of constantly being stalked by fans and paparazzi alike as they dissect her every move and relationship. So it is that she chirps of imagining herself somewhere else with her man, “I was taken by the view/Like we were in Paris/Like we were somewhere else/Like we were in Paris, oh.” Her wistful intonation and delivery builds on the enduring lore that Paris is a place one escapes to (as opposed to being a place one wants to escapes from). That it is an emblem of freedom, endless possibility, etc. Something that a girl like “Tay Tay” would certainly do nothing to discourage. For her entire oeuvre favors only melodrama as opposed to actual drama—a true crisis. Such as the one that has existed within the justice system since time immemorial.

Perhaps because Del Rey’s “Paris, Texas” isn’t about the Paris, it gives way more willingly to something like realism (even if still drenched in its own kind of faux plaintiveness). Complete with Del Rey admitting that, “When you know, you know/It’s time, it’s time to go” after already painting the picture, “I went to Paris (Texas)/With a suitcase in my hand/I had to leave/Knew they wouldn’t understand.” And who (but those of Nahel’s skin tone) could possibly understand ever wanting to leave Paris? Least of all Swift, who wants a “privacy sign on the door”—likely at Le Crillon or Le Meurice, both of which she’s stayed at during her numerous stints in the City of Light. This being one of her many “evocative” descriptions in “Paris,” along with how “romance is not dead if you keep it just yours/Levitate above all the messes made.”

One such “mess” (to use understatement) being the wrath incurred by those who will not stand for what happened to Nahel or any number of men and women of color who this has happened to or will happen to. That wrath has spread over days of unrest, consisting of burning cars, buildings (mostly those harboring French bureaucratic institutions) and trash, and clashing with police as general mayhem is incited in response to the unapologetic blatancy with which systemic racism continues to flourish. And it’s of a variety that does not permit those of a non-white skin tone to romanticize Paris (or its “outlying” areas) in any way, shape or form. Meanwhile, Swift can happily prattle on, “I’m so in love that I might stop breathing [people of color instead “might” stop breathing because a police officer has shot or choked them]/Drew a map on your bedroom ceiling/No, I didn’t see the news/‘Cause we were somewhere else.” Not just physically, but mentally—with that statement about not seeing the news being a sign of white privilege. Because, to be sure, unless a rich white person sees something “untoward” happening directly in their periphery, they’re not likely to notice anything other than the status quo—because they damn sure ain’t botherin’ with the news.

As for Del Rey, her Paris is located in a (theoretically) more racist locale: Texas. Lacking the shine and glitz of the more famous city in France, this small town in Northeastern Texas still has the same racist “philosophies” (so frequently put into practice) that people are seeing come to greater light in the French Paris at this moment. Although it’s long been there, with similar riotous crests after the deaths or aggravated assaults of other Black and/or Arab men (including Amine Bentounsi, Théo Luhaka, Cédric Chouviat and Adama Traoré), the “magic” of France so often causes outsiders to have blinders to the unbridled reality that it is a country with as much racism as the next (often because of a history rooted in colonialism). And, at this instant, it’s not looking so different in that regard from Paris, Texas. Site of numerous violent race relations incidents over the centuries, and, thus, fittingly known for being the location where a lynching was photographed for the first time (with the victim in question being Henry Smith). In this regard, Del Rey’s “Paris” serves as a foil to Swift’s that grounds the French one in reality. A reality that’s not manifest whatsoever in Swiftian lyrics such as, “Stumbled down pretend alleyways/Cheap wine, make believe it’s champagne/I was taken by the view/Like we were in Paris, oh.”

As if such twee fantasies weren’t enough, Swift continues, “I wanna brainwash you/Into loving me forever/I wanna transport you/To somewhere the culture’s clever/Confess my truth/In swooping, sloping, cursive letters/Let the only flashing lights be the tower at midnight/In my mind.” The “tower” she’s referring to, of course, could be none other than the Eiffel, with its signature flashing lights. And especially its rotating light ray at the top that not only mimics the lighthouse effect, but also the spotlight effect that occurs when a prison break happens. Needless to say, at this juncture, France feels like a prison many people (of color) want to escape from in terms of having none of the same freedoms as those of a certain “look” and class. In short, there is no “liberté, égalité, fraternité” for those who are a “high-risk” color in the eyes of the Establishment—which is, sadly, best embodied by police forces (in France and throughout the world).

When Swift wraps up her song with the lines, “‘Cause we were in Paris/Yes, we were somewhere else/My love, we were in Paris,” she reminds that the so-called whites of Paris are, in fact, somewhere else. In a dimension alternate from the one where somebody such as Nahel lives (or rather, lived). And while the concluding lyrics to Del Rey’s “Paris, Texas” might pertain to always going with your gut and taking a risk on making a mistake (something most people of color don’t have the luxury of doing…whether in general or vis-à-vis choosing a place to briefly “settle down”), within the context of amoral and immoral police brutality, it sounds positively eerie to hear: “When you’re right, you’re right/Even when you’re wrong.”

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Genna Rivieccio

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July 2, 2023