She ends up agreeing to smuggle money for them, but meets Trevor McPhee (William Hurt), an American straight out of a film noir who is being followed by an Australian in a similar trench-coat get up. While driving home to Paris – where her nice-guy boyfriend, Gene (Sam Neill), struggles to write a novel – she crashes into two bank robbers. We meet her at a decadent Venetian party that is raging into morning, Talking Heads videos swirl on large Nam June Paik-style televisions as women adjust their Jean Paul Gaultier-like gowns. But our protagonist Claire (Solveig Dommartin, who co-authored the story with Wenders the film was later scripted by Peter Carey) is unfazed. Until the End of the World takes place in late 1999, with most of the globe in a panic about an out-of-control nuclear satellite. It was a logical progression for the travel-obsessed director of Alice in the Cities, Kings of the Road and Paris, Texas a planet-wide victory lap for the German auteur after Wings of Desire, his masterpiece set in a divided Berlin. ![]() Budgeted at more than $20m (£13m) and shot all over the world, it was conceived as the “ultimate road picture”. ![]() The multinational co-production was enormous in its scope, especially considering the director’s roots as an arthouse film-maker. ![]() But this movie has always had its eye on the future’s potential. Back when smartphones, GPS devices and open European borders were considered sci-fi, the two-and-a-half-hour version of this futurist’s detective story was impressive. That’s part of the message gleaned from Wim Wenders’s Until the End of the World, the 1991 film that is only now getting a US theatrical release for its full, almost-five-hour version. The end of the world won’t come from a nuclear blast, but from an abundance of selfies.
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