David Lynch being pretentious? Surely not!

Rating: Null/10 (18 April 2002)

I'm pretty sure that I've met David Lynch before -- maybe not the real one, but a reasonable facsimile.
You see, I went to a small, private liberal arts college, and among the student body were pockets of supposed "intellectuals" who felt that they achieved their exalted cognitive status by simply being profoundly different. Sure, they were different -- nay, weird as hell -- and nobody liked them because they were pretentious, detestable folks.
Guess what, Dave? You don't fool me. Your "art" is generally nothing more than vainglorious bilge. And "Mulholland Dr." is your greatest offense.
For all the creative genius you allegedly possess, you seem to have a nagging desire to kiss the collective ass of those supercilious critics who pander to you on a whim. Hence, you "craft" an even more disjointed mess with each subsequent film. "Mulholland Dr." is a hokey, mildly amusing batch of vignettes, one that would be excusable if its character-driven nature was backed by respectable acting. Instead, the heinous turns by Naomi Watts and Laura Harring aren't even worth a Golden Raspberry.
Those of you who use phrases like "film noir" and the like to denote tripe like "Mulholland Dr." have been sucker-punched by the biggest fraud in Hollywood since the silicone implant came to town. Lynch clearly has some talents, but he abuses them by errantly pawning them as evidence of his superiority as a filmmaker. Thus, the intrigue that develops in "Mulholland Dr." quickly washes away as if being seized by a mudslide, one undoubtedly fomented by Lynch sloshing buckets of his own pride onto the hillside.