David Lynch once again shows his immense but ultimately annoying talent for starting any number of fascinating hares and then failing to round any of them them up again. In this tale of an encounter between an ingénue and an amnesiac femme fatale (but which is which?)he clatters along merrily for an hour and a half and is then forced to take a surreal left turn to wind everything up quickly, like a schoolboy caught short writing an exam essay. Is Lynch just another "art" director who thinks he can easily wing it in the low-brow genre of the thriller, only to fall flat on his face? Maybe. But there are some great scenes here too--if Lynch would only learn to discipline himself, to lay down some ground rules and stick with them, he could make films to rival and maybe outclass Tarantino.
Review of Mulholland Drive
