Lost Highway (1997)

reviewed by
Joshua McAdams


                                    LOST HIGHWAY
               A film review by Joshua Diego McAdams
                Copyright 1997 Joshua Diego McAdams

Mere words cannot begin to describe the experience of David Lynch's "Lost Highway." To label the film as egotistical , nonsensical, and ametuerish would be an insult to films i have previously considered as bottomfeeders. I would rather face a Brian Bosworth retrospective than be forced to suffer through this offering again.

Lynch mistakes begin in the opening credits when he attempts to blend some Billy Coriggan imitator croning over a erratic POV shot speeding down a deserted highway at night. This incredibly blatant grab for the "alternative" box office totally unmasks Lynch the "artist" to reveal a director who I can only describe as comiclly untalented.

More examples of Lynch's overt attempt to be "different" abound as the story starts to progress. Bill Pullman is a saxaphonist with a cheating wife who starts finding videotapes on his front stoop from an anonymous evil entity. See how long it took to describe the action? Lynch doesn't see it as this straight forward. Instead he milks every minute detail of the couples' strained relationship, pausing for endless amounts of dead time and filtering in "errie" music to manipulate the audience. Granted, soundtracks always toy with the audiences emotions but "Lost Highway" is so contrived that you feel used instead of apprehensive.

Lynch shakes the camera, which some will no doubt laud as great direction. Lynch puts people wearing black shirts against black backgrounds, which some people may see as symbolic. But what Lynch does most of all is waste time and film. "Lost Highway" drags into a world of "surrealism" until it finally begins to twist and constrict around itself until all the promise and life is choked out of the film. Why is the publicity surrounding his films always about him? Three words: lack of story.

To further disguise the plot abyss, Lynch brings in these graphic sex scenes, six or seven in all, that I suppose could be justified as central to characters. Instead I found myself asking why I was looking at Patricia Arquette's breasts again. Again "Lost Highway" sets itself in a category that has been reserved for the absolute worst of the worst. Yes, it breaks new ground and falls straight into the basement.

Unfortunately there are some individuals who have the right to enjoy this type of film making. I find them gathered in art galleries and coffee shops discussing the meaning of this or the theme of that. I always attempt to get some type of concrete examples as to why they feel Lynch is a quality director, but all I tend to get is artiste doublespeak such as "Lynch explores repressed tensions of the world." It's a sad statement about our commercial society when something is considered artistic just because it is different or because someone (usually the person who does it) tells you how different and artistic the work is.

As I opened with words cannot describe the pain one must endure to reach the credits on "Lost Highway." Manic/Despressives beware: I'm thankful I left my gun at home or I may have opted for suicide. I noticed the usher takes you belt and shoestrings as you enter.

Rating: Class Four Buzzkill: Go alone or you will end up apologizing.

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