{i checked the 'Contains spoiler' box with ironic intent: this movie has no plot to 'spoil'.} 'show business' is only an oxymoron to those who don't understand that unless there's a dialectic between what the audience wants (escapism without real consequences) and what the artist wants to convey (that he/she has a unique vision that must be taken seriously), what you wind up with is meaningless navel-gazing.
if there's too much control by "the suits", you wind up with "Home Alone XX". with just the right balance between suits and a visionary artist, you may get masterpieces such as "Blue Velvet", "Lost Highway", and "Mulholland Drive". however, once the lunatics are in charge of the asylum, all too often the result is an incoherent mess like "Inland Empire."
Woody Allen has made a career of dramatizing insights derived from Freud. analogously, the tapestry that connects Lynch's work is the mad interplay among the Jungian themes of Shadow, Self, Anima, and Animus -- but, however much (or little) dreams may illuminate our waking reality, dreams that have no referents besides other dreams, if that, merely obscure rather than illuminate.
after a beginning that suggests we may be in for another fascinating closeup of the Munch-like horrors lying just beneath the surface of the Norman Rockwell reality we still cling to when our guard is down in a movie house, all too soon we find ourselves sitting through 3 hours of boring non-sequitors.
the scary scenes don't scare, the sexy scenes don't arouse. because one of the most fundamental drives of the human psyche is to find meaning (something that artists of the absurdist school might pause to ponder), the viewer's attention winds up being riveted on Lynchian tics like light bulbs and overapmplified sounds of the background noise on a long distance phone call (or is it the sound of bathroom plumbing? -- who knows or cares?). the unintended result is that it feels like a parody of Lynch done by Mad TV. (it's too loud, too lacking in any subtlety, and just plain too ugly for SNL).
one of the less commented upon features found in all of Lynch's films from "Blue Velvet" on is that they are visually gorgeous. "Inland Empire" looks like a video-to-film transfer shot on a cheap camcorder. (indeed, from what i've read, it WAS shot on a cheap camcorder.) it's sad, and disappointing, to see a great artist lose his way. Let's hope Lynch is back to his otherwise superb form in his next film.
if there's too much control by "the suits", you wind up with "Home Alone XX". with just the right balance between suits and a visionary artist, you may get masterpieces such as "Blue Velvet", "Lost Highway", and "Mulholland Drive". however, once the lunatics are in charge of the asylum, all too often the result is an incoherent mess like "Inland Empire."
Woody Allen has made a career of dramatizing insights derived from Freud. analogously, the tapestry that connects Lynch's work is the mad interplay among the Jungian themes of Shadow, Self, Anima, and Animus -- but, however much (or little) dreams may illuminate our waking reality, dreams that have no referents besides other dreams, if that, merely obscure rather than illuminate.
after a beginning that suggests we may be in for another fascinating closeup of the Munch-like horrors lying just beneath the surface of the Norman Rockwell reality we still cling to when our guard is down in a movie house, all too soon we find ourselves sitting through 3 hours of boring non-sequitors.
the scary scenes don't scare, the sexy scenes don't arouse. because one of the most fundamental drives of the human psyche is to find meaning (something that artists of the absurdist school might pause to ponder), the viewer's attention winds up being riveted on Lynchian tics like light bulbs and overapmplified sounds of the background noise on a long distance phone call (or is it the sound of bathroom plumbing? -- who knows or cares?). the unintended result is that it feels like a parody of Lynch done by Mad TV. (it's too loud, too lacking in any subtlety, and just plain too ugly for SNL).
one of the less commented upon features found in all of Lynch's films from "Blue Velvet" on is that they are visually gorgeous. "Inland Empire" looks like a video-to-film transfer shot on a cheap camcorder. (indeed, from what i've read, it WAS shot on a cheap camcorder.) it's sad, and disappointing, to see a great artist lose his way. Let's hope Lynch is back to his otherwise superb form in his next film.