"In 2000, I went into the shop and I bought some jazz that I knew I wanted to get, and I said to the guy, "what else can I get?", and he pointed out this album with camels on it. I thought, I'll give that a try, and it was this Nubian music, which I got really into and also I bought another one, which was an Algerian CD. I listened to that for a bit and then I just kind of stopped and didn't really listen to world music for 10 years. Ali Hussan Kuban was the doorway to all the rest of them. I heard that in 2011 and I've basically been searching ever since for anything else that feels that way. A few years later, one of the things I found was this track 'Baba Ramdev'. It's just so incredibly joyful and it feels like an epic adventure. There's something absolutely epic about it, to me. It sounds like they're outside. How you seen any of those YouTube videos of the Gypsies of Rajasthan, the colourful dresses they wear and the dances they do? It's pretty incredible. And they're always in some really remote-looking rocky outcrop, somewhere in the desert. And the cover of this album as well, the guy with the amazing moustache. I love that whole spirit, really wild and free - that's what the song feels like to me."

"The whole feel of this film was something that woke me up to cinema in a way. Before this film it was very much an Amblin world for me. Lots of Indiana Jones and John Hughes and Willy Wonka (the original) and Van Damme action movies and Richard Pryor comedies like Brewster’s Millions, etc. Then a friend introduced me to Paris, Texas. The aching loneliness and sense of lost love that pervades the film from the arid desolation of the desert landscape to the haunting strings of Ry Cooder’s soundtrack just blew me away. Maybe I was 17 or 18 when I saw it, but it stayed with me, and I go back to it about once a year. It also has one of the most honest portrayals of the loss of love between a couple, and the inherent danger within the nature of obsession. This lost love is broken down for the audience in what, to me, is possibly most quietly powerful monologue ever delivered in any film I’ve seen; when Harry Dean Stanton’s character, Travis, finally sits with the woman he loved and lost, and he recounts their story to her. Travis has to turn the chair around, so he’s facing away from her while he speaks. I assume because it’s too much to look at her while he’s expressing where and how such love disintegrated. Yeah, it’s a beautiful, beautiful film."