Inland Empire ★★★★½

"Brutal fucking murder!"
"Uh...I don't like this kind of talk."
Then get the fuck out of a David Lynch film, honey.

Second time around, still have no clue what it's about. You could probably edit INLAND EMPIRE into a completely different order and I'd still be so lost that I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

Remember how Mulholland Drive was somewhat normal (as far as Lynch goes) for the first two hours and then only got really surreal in the final twenty minutes? Right, well INLAND EMPIRE maybe (maybe) has twenty somewhat normal minutes and the rest of the three hours is spent being absolute batshit mind-fucking crazy. And I can't help but love every single minute of it.

If you watched Blue Velvet and thought "Gee, this just ain't surreal enough for me!" and then watched Twin Peaks and thought "Still could be more surreal!" and then watched Mulholland Drive and thought "Give me another helping of surrealism 'cause this just isn't cutting it!" and then watched Eraserhead and thought "You know, I could really do with some more surrealism!" then INLAND EMPIRE might just be the film for you.

I've waxed poetic on how much Eraserhead means to me (abridged version: the movie that got me into movies), and I won't bother dredging that up again, but it's safe to say that David Lynch is a director I have a huge soft spot for. For many, INLAND EMPIRE's gargantuan running time, complete lack of coherency, and surreal journey down the rabbit hole into darkness will only frustrate rather than intrigue. For me, however, I feel so hypnotized that I might as well have a screwdriver in my abdomen.

Too soon?

(I feel bad posting two non-reviews in a row, but I really need to revisit this at least one more time before I'm confident enough to actually write about it. And I probably still won't be then.)