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Still Confused? Too Bad. Just Dig The Delirium.

I’m disappointed with myself. I should know better than to watch a David Lynch movie before bedtime. Damn you Ebert, damn you all to hell. Even though he’s right on the money, especially with this line:
“The movie is a surrealist dreamscape in the form of a Hollywood film noir, and the less sense it makes, the more we can’t stop watching it.”
The cranky critic has a slightly different take:
“Unadulterated, unbearable, unendurable David Lynch. By the time it gets to the point, we were far past the point of caring”
I’d nearly given up on it myself, with thoughts of shutting it off and reading for a bit instead (I recall, with great amusement, working at the local movie theater in high school when Wild at Heart was showing…never before had so many patrons walked out of a movie demanding refunds). Mulholland Drive started out with b-movie acting, so stilted and just plain bad it felt like a made for TV job. It took quite a while before it built up and those unmistakable Lynch-esque what the fuck? moments started shining through. Naturally that’s what hooked me. But my second film of 2004 made my brain hurt. Maybe I should have another mug of warm frothy soy milk before bed.