Director: David Lynch
Year Released: 2001
Rating: 3.5
Novelist/essayist David Foster Wallace wrote, on the set of Lost Highway, that David Lynch's main desire is to get inside the film watcher's head, but once he gets in there he doesn't really know what to do. This profound observation pertains to most of Lynch's pictures, but especially this one, which takes pieces from a TV series he was working on and reconstructs them into a brilliant, humorous, disturbing enigma, one that makes more sense after you've left the theater and discussed it at some length with others. American movies tend to be so plainly obvious - I was continuously amused (often times outright laughing) at how Lynch has managed to get funding (a lot of funding) for a neo-noir picture about nothing less than the shaky state of identity (marked by having actresses look too similar to be coincidental), corruption among people with power, the irrelevance of logic and disillusion that comes along with achieving fame (Naomi Watts starts off bubbling and prissy, and her telegraphed downfall), and the fear of what goes on inside what appear to be relatively serene neighborhoods. Perhaps it's a little long, and sometimes Lynch oversteps boundaries that he shouldn't have (a. the masturbation scene, b. the "little rambling people"), but for every mistake there's a scene that's so remarkably creative or unsettling - the "conference" scene that involves expectorating coffee, the botched murder - you quickly forget any qualms or complaints. That Lynch can make this after The Straight Story shows the depths of his talent; enjoy it or not, it's a rambling mindfuck.
