How not to start a symphony. With a rest. #5 (7)j j-j o ^ (7)j j-j o
Beethoven started with a pause. A pause, in this case, is unheard. Felt.
No hay banda.
Il y a n’est pas d’orchestre.
I wish I was more confident in my French memory.
The Spanish is simpler.
It could be Roberto Benigni in La vita è bella reeling off a priceless punchline.
It could be John Cage forcing us to listen in 4’33”.
Painfully good. A perfect film. Mulholland Drive. Dr. Mulholland.
I’ve either gained you or lost you by this point.
You will excuse the word virus at work.
Perhaps the word bacteria predates Burroughs.
Always a cut-up in class.
And those classy suits.
It’s a talent to be weird, though Charles Mingus would argue otherwise.
A talent to be simple.
You have to stay with me like Lord Buckley or Lester Bangs.
I got yer Oxford comma right here.
, and don’t I know it!
She takes Hayworth’s name from Gilda.
Laura Elena Harring. Laura Harring if you’re into the whole brevity thing. Concision of expression. Bthvn.
If you really wanna impress the familia, it’s Laura Elena Martínez Herring. Miss USA 1985. Just missed 1984.
Or well, Wilbur…
Mr. Ed. Paging Mr….
Herring. Pink. She is a living Modigliani onscreen for a brief moment on a couch. A stippled nipple in deep focus.
But this is not her film. She is a MacGuffin in heels.
No. This is Naomi Watts’ film. Boy is it ever!
But let us pop this balloon before it goes all Vivre sa vie on us.
Is this the best Amer-ican film ever made? Probably.
Dog Star Man has a steep mountain to climb without a soundtrack to blow Sisyphus to his zenith.
F for Fake is to American cinema what Histoire(s) du cinema is to the French pantheon.
The only real challenger, then, might be Gummo.
But let us return to Maestro Lynch. David Lynch. Montana Dave. The Cowboy…
This is, to reiterate, a perfect film. Such creations do not come along often.
As such, we should savor each morsel of finesse embodied in this feast for eyes and mind.
And don’t forget the ears. Badalamenti. Badda bing, badda boom.
What would Chico Marx have made of this film???
Who cares… It’s Chico stuffed into a dough ball suitcase with $50k and Groucho and Harpo mashed up
with even a good portion of Zeppo as Little Mr. Sunshine in Naomi Watts’ first character Betty Elms.
Nightmare on Elms’ street.
Great minds think alike. Cannes premier of this film May 16, 2001. Radiohead’s Amnesiac album? June 5, 2001.
Rita. Camille. Diane Selwyn.
Kryptos. Jim Sanborn. Mengenlehreuhr.
(0,2,3,5) Le Sacre du printemps.
Spitting espresso into a napkin, strikes fear in the hearts of the most hardened capitalists.
The Flower That Drank the Moon. Not a real film.
The Big Sleep. She. H. Rider Haggard. Angel-A.
Finnegans, upon waking, diapasoned Wachet auf.
Just call me Death. Everyone else does.
We don’t stop here.
We push on. Like Gene Wilder on a magical fucking river of chocolate.
You can’t split the existential atom any further. Kubrick tried in 2001. And now Lynch had arrived at the same year.
If you open a MacGuffin, you will find nothing.
I have a bag full of money and I can’t remember my name. That is Hollywood.
This is the girl.
And the gun.
24x per second.
Truth before the big lie even sprouted wings. L’Effroyable imposture. Vérités et Mensonges.
It’s like the old Edison tone tests. Hit the lights. Who’s playing? The phonograph or the violinist?
Like looking at L.A. through Roy Orbison’s glasses. A blur…a haze.
No one has split the literary atom any further than Louis-Ferdinand Céline.
Those three little dots.
The rhythm of speech. From Modest Mussorgsky to Harry Partch.
Boris Godunov was lousy so we had to shave his armpits.
We would have never gotten to know each other so well, Boris and I. Henry. Mr. Bones.
Yeah, I keep on sloggin’ and get diminishing marginal returns.
Just a fancy way of saying less and less. Nothing (more or less).
And then nothing turns itself inside out.
Naomi Watts goes from gee swell to Valerie Solanas.
The key. CERN. When they rev it up.
What does it open?
Möbius (stripped bare by his bachelorettes), even
[The Large Hadron Collider]
Mimesis. Die a Jesus.
Greatest goal in life?
To achieve immortality and then die.
J. Hoberman. J. Mascis. J. Spaceman.
Putrefaction is merely Der Untergang des Abendlandes. The decline of the evening lands.
Rises east, sets The West.
L’Usine de rêves.
That killer blonde that we all want. From Kim Novak to Daniel Craig.
Monty Montgomery. Hope you only see him once more.
Good v. Bad, 410 U.S. 113 (2001)
The abortion of Newtonian physics.
Michael J. Anderson as Larry Silverstein.
We don’t stop here.
This is the girl.
Maybe the smartest thing to do is pull it.
And we watched the building collapse.
That would be the shadow government.
An accident is a terrible event—notice the location of the accident.
Who gives a key, and why?
Mengenlehreuhr, Stravinsky, Lord Buckley, Silverman, shadow governments, the factory of dreams (I suppose that’s the territory), CERN, an atomic theory of ellipses where each period is a basic particle. Essays could be written on your asides.
There’s too many ideas that struck me in this to really single any out, so I’ll just say I agree and love this film. There’s a side (or perhaps duality) to American life that Lynch portrays better than anyone.
Thank you! It is rewarding to have my asides not go unnoticed. In reality, I’m all asides. I embrace it. It’s how my mind works. Best to release the half-formed concoction and let sympathetic minds fill in the details to fit their own perspective. Thank you again! –Paul
It’s an interesting style. It reminds me of Godard mostly, but Lynch fits this fairly well too.
Those are dizzying heights to reach.
Great line: “It’s a talent to be weird.” My wife often tells me there is no one like me.
I don’t know if you have tried poetry, but you definitely have the writing talent to be a poet. You could name your site “Free verse film reviews.”
Thanks Chris! Yes, that is more or less how many of my reviews go. I find it’s the best way I can convey a film’s mood without giving away too much of the plot. Thank you for the idea. –Paul