Disappearing up one's own intellectual orifice

Rating: 3/10 (24 February 2002)

How much longer are we to persist with this flawed belief that once a director produces great, ground-breaking work, all future work "can't be all that bad, after all, he made such-and-such".
Mulholland Drive is a case in point, and is in fact unmitigated rubbish. The performances are excellent, particularly from Watts and Theroux, but a good film they do not necessarily make. What Lynch has clearly forgotten is that just making a film unnecessarily wierd only works when it takes the audience by surprise. When the audience is expecting the film to not make sense, then the film has to have some substance to keep the audience interested. Lynch succeeds in the first half of the film, with the murder-mystery set up with lots of twists and red herrings, and then ... plop! The story decends into a quagmire of bizarre halucinations and pointless segues. Methinks Lynch realised how muddled the film was becoming, and threw in the lesbian and mastobatory scenes to the audience awake, and to stop the male viewers from standing up and leaving.
Watching the film at the preview, I was surrounded by Lynchophiles who had no more idea of what was going on than I did, but left the theatre commenting on the "layers and layers" of Lynch's film-making. Excuse me but these people are the same nitwits who stand in art galleries staring at canvasses that have been painted white commenting on the "courage of the artist at painting such a brave work".
Films like these are made because (a) Lynch is trading on his previous work; and (b) because people convince themselves that unintelligeable film is art, and therefore, must be good. I queried a number of the Lynchophiles about what they ACTUALLY liked in the film and only response I recieved that wasn't a broad "layers" type of answer was that they liked it when the "chicks got their kit off".
Nuff said.