# 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 amateurish would be an insult to films I have previously considered as bottomfeeders. Lynch mistakes begin in the opening credits when he attempts to blend David Bowie (imitating Billy Coriggan) crooning over a erratic POV shot speeding down a deserted highway at night. This incredibly blatant grab for the "alternative", or art house, box office totally unmasks Lynch the "artist" to reveal a director who I can only describe as comically untalented. But at least he knows his target audience. More examples of Lynch's overt attempt to be "different" abound as the story starts to progress. Bill Pullman is a saxophonist 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 "eerie" 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. The man treats his narrative like a disobedient child; taking the story away from the audience for a couple of minutes, beating the hell out of it and bringing it back when it starts to behave like he thinks it should. 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, choking all promise and life from the offering. Why is the publicity surrounding his films always about Lynch himself? Three words: lack of plot. To further disguise the idea 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. "Lost Highway" sets itself in a category that has been reserved for the absolute worst of the worst. Yes, it constantly breaks new ground: and fall straight into the basement. Fortunately there are some individuals who 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. But what are these rambling sentences but word? To truly appreciate this artist with no art, Lost Highway is a must see.

    Manic/Depressives
     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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