CMFH Film Reviews

2006, USA/Poland/France
Crime, Drama, Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller
Review by Deborah Dearth

What twisted fairytales David Lynch ("Twin Peaks") tells. Through Inland Empire, he presents the second chapter of a projected trilogy bent on destroying the Hollywood machine (Mulholland Dr. being the jumping off point). Not for the small of mind or weak of bladder (clocking in at 172 long minutes), this film magnifies Lynch’s vision of the false world surrounding his profession.

Lynch’s muse Laura Dern (Wild at Heart, Blue Velvet) perfectly reflects the Lynch dichotomy by portraying personalities seemingly naive and clueless yet eventually battered from a life infused with wickedness. Much as Naomi Watts did in Mulholland (keep an ear perked for her voice behind a bunny costume), Dern has a knack for flipping the switch from cold to hot without appearing cartoonish or unnatural. Of course, there is never anything natural about a Lynch production.

Combining a Hollywood remake with an old Polish gypsy folktale, a bunny TV show and lip-synching hookers, Lynch takes his viewers so far down the rabbit hole they come out the other side in time to see themselves falling. Time and place collapse upon themselves, and reality and fantasy mesh so well that the fabric eventually becomes transparent. Characters walk into houses and out of movie sets so seamlessly one almost expects the munchkins to pop out and present tokens of appreciation. And with Lynch, would that be so unexpected?

It is not the words that need to be given attention -- Lynch purposefully uses tired dialogue and worn clichés -- but the pauses in between that hold gravity. Cryptic codes and instructions are occasionally reminiscent of old spy movies, though in this film a metaphorical message is deciphered rather than enemy plans. Gazes searching for answers are more effective than the occasionally spoken, “It’s not making any sense” -- though much of the audience may agree with the latter.

Lynch’s absurd world is frighteningly suspenseful, though don’t expect a sudden gunshot to relieve the tension. Fear is drawn out with a shaking, stalking camera that appears both ominous and omnipresent. Much like Dern’s drawl, anxiety oozes out slowly and pervades the landscape. Disjointed dreams are enhanced by the acidic smell of success, and the inbred movie family is best represented through hypnotizing carnies and narcissistic prostitutes.

Everything is cyclical, though it may not be initially obvious. In the quest for original thought and creativity, the easy route is always the one best worn. As the plastic stars of Hollywood fail to regard their own futures but rather slide into the well-tread mistakes of the past, Lynch risks nothing (and everything) in assuring himself a unique moment in the silver screen timeline.

Lynch films are an acquired taste and not easily digested, and this film is particularly self-indulgent. Abuse and obsession permeate grim dimensions of a disturbing industry. Wild imagery may appear both comical and freakish, but rarely instantly obvious. Though his pill may be hard to swallow, the side effects can be gratifying in a world of pre-chewed storylines and backdrops. Each minute of this film is artistically considered, and as the story eventually settles into the mind after the credits roll (and that in itself is worth waiting for the curtain to close), the story’s double-sided web becomes more understandable. Though with Lynch, there is no skeleton key for every door, and you can go home reassured that sometimes a lumberjack sawing wood behind women singing spirituals in a mansion with a monkey just doesn’t make sense. And that’s fine by me.