In 1992 David Lynch released “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me”, as a conclusion to his worldwide cult hit television series, “Twin Peaks”. While “Peaks” only stayed on the air for a little over two years, its impact was undeniable, especially in conjunction with Lynch’s brilliant theatrical films. With the production of cinematic feats “Eraserhead”, “The Elephant Man”, “Blue Velvet” and “Wild at Heart” under his belt, Lynch became one of America’s greatest directors and changed the way we watch films. But with the exception of the 1999 Disney film “The Straight Story”, Lynch hasn’t made an enjoyable film since “Fire Walks with Me” left theaters almost fifteen years ago. A streak he continues with the recent release of “Inland Empire”, if you had grabbed me as I exited the “Twin Peaks” film and told me that the first awful movie of 2007 would be helmed by Lynch I would have called you insane, but much like a Lynch film, in life anything is possible.
In the 1980s and into the early 90’s David Lynch was the face of “independent cinema” to most of the uninformed public. With his 1977 film “Eraserhead” Lynch launched the enrollment of thousands of future film school dropouts; all eager to issue their own cinematic rebuttal to their new god Lynch. Although most would go on to work at video stores and artsy movie theaters, Lynch’s lasting impact on the world of film would ultimately eclipse his ability to make them.
“Inland Empire” has been described by its creator as a film about “A Woman in Trouble”, which is a tagline that could be applied to almost any Lynch film, and I wish I had watched any Lynch film other than this. Lynch began his slippery slope into self gratifying masturbatory efforts with 1997’s meanderingly repetitive “Lost Highway”; a film that immediately divided his core audience. There’s no gray area with this film you either love or hate “Lost Highway”, I’m with the latter group but refused to believe Lynch had lost his way. Two years later Lynch released “The Straight Story”, a film that wasn’t necessarily odd, just odd that Lynch made it, while “Story” was enjoyable it didn’t fit the mold of films he had set up since unleashing “Eraserhead” over twenty years earlier. Two years after that Lynch spewed “Mullholland Drive” into theaters, a failed television pilot episode with extra footage to pad out the run time, “Drive.” was even more a directionless and poorly formatted than “Highway”. Finally Lynch fell into silence for five years, quietly releasing a few ignorable short films and videos for the hysterically bad industrial/performance band Rammstein. Slightly forgotten and losing relevance with each passing day Lynch was simply biding his time and collecting footage for “Inland Empire” a film that undeniably shows the work of director lost in the loving reflection of himself.
A plot synopsis for “Inland Empire” is categorically impossible, Lynch himself has revealed in several interviews that the body of “Inland Empire” was shot over a two year long period, with no narrative in place and he simply put the pieces together as he saw fit. This would have been a completely acceptable way to make one of his short films like “The Amputee” or “Darkened Room” but it simply doesn’t work in a film that stretches out over a painful 172 minutes. There is absolutely no narrative in it, just a checklist of Lynch trademarks; WASPy virgin whose sexual exploits turn her into a whore, a controlling husband/father figure, amputees, the mentally challenged, a young male lead with a long face and tall hair that reflects the way Lynch wishes he saw himself (Kyle MacLachlan, Nicholas Cage, Balthazar Getty and now Justin Theroux), driving at night, English dialogue so difficult to understand that subtitles are necessary, cowboys and his latest obsession, watching girls kiss each other. “Inland” plays out like three different short films that are cut together and just happen to feature the same actors.
Lynch assembled an odd cast for “Inland” there are the old standbys; Laura Dern, Grace Zabriskie, Naomi Watts and Theroux; he also includes unusual new choices like Mary Steenburgen, William H. Macy, Diane Ladd and Jeremy Irons. But for all the talent Lynch has at his fingertips he decides to force us through endless scenes with a group of lost whores played by what looks like a group of “Suicide Girls” rejects; the acting is wincingly amateurish and their scenes illicit laughter for all the wrong reasons. The only salvageable moments feature the eternally brilliant Harry Dean Stanton, America’s finest living character actor. I’d recommend picking up the eventual DVD release and fast forward to his parts, but if the DVD of “Inland Empire” follows the path set by Lynch’s recent releases you won’t be able to. In a pompous act of self gratitude that would make Narcissus envious, Lynch has recently written into his contacts that all his films released on DVD have no chapter breaks, forcing the viewer to watch it in its entirety or spend a lot of time holding down the fast forward button.
Probably the worst offense by Lynch on “Inland Empire” is his new found love of digital cinema. Stating that working with film is for the dinosaurs, he has pledged to never return from the world of digital, which is a shame because “Inland Empire” looks like shit. I wish there was a more polite way of putting it but “Empire” looks and plays like a film student’s attempt at a Lynch parody. The frequent use of handheld cameras and auto focus zooms is unforgivable when used by a man who made art with film and now puts out garbage akin to home video footage I could have shot in my backyard, literally. There is actually a scene at a white trash barbecue that I could have shot out back, I just wouldn’t have used so many unnecessary close ups of people looking surprised for no reason. “Close ups of widening eyes and porous noses” could have been the shooting title of this dreck.
At the two hour mark I had completely lost interest in the film and just wished I could fall asleep, unfortunately I had been so eager to see the film I had downed a giant “energy drink” to ensure my attentiveness. After resting my head in my hands for a few minutes I glanced at my girlfriend, (a more forgiving Lynch fan) to see if we had to stay the full three hours. While she was still willing to give the film her full attention I noticed the woman beside her was also trying to find more enjoyment in sleep, I glanced around the sold-out venue and realized I defiantly wasn’t alone. There was a generous population of the audience that was as enthralled as I and were checking their phones, watches, décor of the theater and the color of the insides of their eyelids. After the first false ending, I couldn’t help but utter a blaspheme about my Aunt’s lord and savior; a sound that was echoed by the stranger beside by girlfriend and carried to the rafters by other members of the audience. At the first sign of scrolling credits, I bolted for the door in search of release form my self imposed exile from fresh air, awaiting my girlfriends suspected enjoyment of the horrible three hour long car crash I was forced to view. “Well”, I inquired after she stepped out into the rainy night, “what did you think?” To which she replied, “I now see David Lynch as my abusive husband, he’s constantly hurting me with his progressively worsening films, but I keep reminding myself of the good days when he made great movies. But now I think its time to break up.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.
I’m sure plenty of people will argue that I’m simply a philistine and that “I didn’t get it”, no I got it, but just as with his last masturbatory efforts “Mullholland Drive” and “Lost Highway”, I just didn’t care. Lynch is now the film version of Radiohead, releasing work only they themselves would find enjoyable while their lemming like followers chant their virtues as they all run off the cliff of significance into a sea of self obsession.
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