If you’re still trying to figure out what happened in David Lynch’s 2001 “Mulholland Drive,” I have bad news for you. His latest film is also set in Hollywood, also follows the industry-inflicted torments of a distraught blonde actress, and makes “Mulholland Drive” look as predictable and accessible as an episode of “Friends.”
“Inland Empire” finds Laura Dern portraying a married actress in a film that she sees as an opportunity to legitimize her career. However, danger seems to lurk around every corner, as shadowy rumors about an earlier version of the film swirl, and seduction by her lothario co-star seems inevitable.
Laura Palmer’s mom from “Twin Peaks” makes some threatening predictions in a hammy Eastern European accent. Sometimes we seem to be watching the original Polish version of the one that Dern is remaking. People in rabbit costumes stand in a stagey-looking apartment, speaking cryptically and without emotion. Yes, rabbits.
Soon, Dern’s character loses her grip on reality and slips confusingly into her film role. I can only image that the actual Laura Dern was at least as confused as the characters she played. There is a level of confusion that I can tolerate when watching a film; at this level, intrigue is created and I want to watch and figure it out. But “Inland Empire” is frustratingly close to pure abstraction for much of the film. It was visually fascinating to see, but maddening to actually try to watch.
Lynch is certainly amazingly capable at creating powerful visual nightmares; the buzzes and hums of the soundtracks alone are inexplicably yet undeniably terrifying. For me, however, the scariest part of “Inland Empire” occurred when we hit the two-hour mark, and realized we still had an hour to go.
I felt tantalizingly close to some kind of a theme when pieces of dialogue were repeated throughout, but, while this lends itself well to a drinking game, I think I was only further confounded by these clues. This film was missing the strain of mysticism that usually elevates his films above their distressing, if elegantly shot, content. Lynch clearly enjoys torturing women, and I found myself among this unlucky group while watching “Inland Empire.”
“Inland Empire” is currently available to rent.
Thinking of becoming a vegetarian? A viewing of Richard Linklater’s “Fast Food Nation” will send you straight to the produce department with tears in your eyes. A fictional dramatization of the facts and premises behind Eric Schlosser’s fascinating nonfiction book of the same name, this ensemble movie successfully portrays the many levels of desperation and power that allow such enormous machines as the fast food industry to become so unstoppable.
We see high school kids working at fast food restaurants because they need a job and college kids making wincingly high-minded protest plans (singer Avril Lavigne is perfectly cast as one such young lady). We see recent Mexican immigrants who are repulsed by the best-paying work available to them at the dangerous meat packing plant. We see an advertising professional (Greg Kinnear) who objects to the business he represents but finds he falls short as a revolutionary.
There is an open-endedness to these stories that respects the viewer’s intelligence, rather than self-righteously informing them of what they should feel and do. A creeping feeling of inevitability pervades the character’s struggles. This is not exactly a call to arms against a dangerous and corrupt business; those kinds of movies are annoying. The actors put us in their character’s shoes, and the movie asks us if we, honestly, would do anything any differently. Ethan Hawke plays the sole remaining idealist in the movie, and his worldview is sufficiently realistic as to be refreshing, while giving us a little breath of hope.
The most powerful lesson in a film is not didactic, but is empathetic. “Fast Food Nation” excels in this. Linklater avoids a soapbox because he doesn’t need one. The complexity of the material stands on its own.
“Fast Food Nation” is currently available to rent.
Contact Asia Frey at afrey@lagniappemobile.com.
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