In anticipation of my visit to David Lynch's exhibition in Paris this week, I thought I'd take a look at Inland Empire.
No film, however good, should be a bladder-rupturing three hours long, and this ain't that good. Only of interest to the Lynch enthusiasts, this is not so much an Art-House film, but an Art-Gallery installation. It would probably work best in that context; you walk into the darkened room, stand watching for 5 minutes and walk away to look at the elephant dung pictures.
They longevity is partly due to the dialogue which features pauses that you could drive a steam train through. Had Lynch had the discipline to lop out seventy minutes of the usual filler wierdness, he may have created a great deconstructionist movie.
Having said that, Lynch does show that he knows what he's doing. Just as you begin to wane he throws in a moment of brilliance which helps get you through to the next.
(Although this was sadly lost on the guy snoring in the cinema less than an hour in; much laughs).
PS: interesting that Lynch's trope featuring the wilderness as THE OTHER has been transposed to Poland for budget purposes. This expediency actually helps the film by adding a tone of anxiety in regard to America's post-soviet uncertainty regarding the import of East-European gangsterism, allowing Lynch lean directly on Kafka.
Liked the rabbits though.
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