For many people, I imagine, David Lynch's films are love them or hate them affairs. But, frankly, I seem to fall somewhere in the middle. I recognize that Lynch has a strong visual style, and at times can create mesmerizing moments in his films. But then, he offsets those positive attributes with one-dimensional characters, indecipherable plots and, often, weirdness, it seems, for weirdness sake. Someone has described Lynch as the first popular surrealist, and that sounds a fitting description, although I would debate the "popular" statement, as most of Lynch's films are not box-office hits and have generated cult followings at best. Lost Highway fits right into this model: it features some absorbing imagery, a strong soundtrack at times, and some engrossing moments, but then, when all is said and done, does it really add up to anything?
The plot of Lost Highway, what there is of one, focuses on Fred Madison (Bill Pullman) a saxophonist whose wife, Renee (Patricia Arquette), seems to be drifting away from him. Fred suspects she might be having an affair, but he can't be sure. One morning, Renee finds a videotape on the front steps that contains a black and white image of their home. The following day, another tape is found, this one following up the original imagery with an intruder, it would appear, videotaping Fred and Renee asleep in bed. At a party later, Fred is confronted by a chalk white skinned individual (Robert Blake, in what is, so far, his last role to date) who informs him he knows him, and that he is also at his home right then, which is corroborated by Fred phoning his home only to speak to the mystery man while he also stands in front of him. Shortly thereafter, Fred suddenly finds himself in jail, Renee dead, and the police believing he is responsible.
Lost Highway then switches gears, and we are introduced to Pete (Balthazar Getty), a mechanic who is the favorite of a sadistic mob boss, Mr. Eddy (Robert Loggia), who has a stunning blonde girlfriend, Alice (also Patricia Arquette). Pete and Alice begin to have an affair and make plans to run away together, but Pete is troubled by strange memories of things that happened a few nights ago that he can't fully remember and unnerving dreams.
Lost Highway, like Lynch's 2001 film Mulholland Drive, deals in elements of identity, memory, and guilt. Upon watching the whole film, you can kind of see what Lynch is trying for, and there are elements that seem to fit together, but nothing you can concretely say makes much sense if you follow your ideas through. The film has a very non-linear, dreamlike quality that, as mentioned above, Lynch would revisit in Mulholland Drive, but this very much seems to be a dress rehearsal for that later, better received film.
However, while some can content themselves by calling Lynch a visual stylist and surrealist and forgiving him his trespasses, the rest of us who are looking for something in a film beyond a string of stunning images are, frankly, largely out of luck. In the end, the real problem with Lost Highway is not so much its convoluted narrative, but its lack of character development. The way Lynch directs his actors (and considering they all perform about the same, I find it difficult to believe it isn't Lynch calling the shots on this) much of the dialogue is delivered in a short, clipped and detached manner, as if the need to include words was an afterthought to Lynch who doesn't quite want to make a silent film. We learn little to nothing about the characters, there is no background, no insight into them as people, they are merely pawns for Lynch's visually driven plot machinations, not people. It doesn't help that the narrative suddenly changes focus at midpoint, and we are left dealing with a new set of characters and story that may or may not be connected to the earlier scenes. Again, these characters are thinly drawn, more types than three dimensional humans.
Lost Highway displays Lynch's typical fascination with the 1950's. Both of the characters Arquette essays are traditional femme fatales, steeped in noir filmmaking, and most of the characters wear leather jackets, drive 50s cars or motorcycles and smoke rather ceaselessly. Loggia's performance as Mr. Eddy feels like a mid-Century mob boss and Pullman seems to channel a Beat-era avant garde musician. Again, it is all about Lynch assembling the imagery that intrigues him, less about telling a coherent story.
With all that being said, Lost Highway can still draw you in at times. Many of the encounters involving Pete and Alice have an undeniable erotic charge to them and a flashback scene revealing how Alice and Mr. Eddy first met is a potent mix of sex and danger that is engrossing. The early scenes that introduce the mystery elements are also at times hypnotizing, but as the film draws to a close, and things don't really start adding up, and we are dealing with characters we don't really care about, Lost Highway begins deflating and we are left scratching our heads about what it all might mean.
Lost Highway was one of Lynch's last gasps of popular success. He followed it up with The Straight Story, a very traditional drama that proved he could make a "normal" film, then Mulholland Drive which fit squarely in the Lynchian typical style that received a lot of critical acclaim but again suffered from the same issues that plague Lost Highway. Since then, Lynch has made only one full-length feature, 2006's little seen Inland Empire. Lynch is definitely not for everyone, I might tolerate him better than many, but Lost Highway is a typical sample of what you can usually expect from the director: gorgeous imagery, glossing over a somewhat vacant, at times frustrating, core. I wouldn't be surprised if he wouldn't want it any other way.
The plot of Lost Highway, what there is of one, focuses on Fred Madison (Bill Pullman) a saxophonist whose wife, Renee (Patricia Arquette), seems to be drifting away from him. Fred suspects she might be having an affair, but he can't be sure. One morning, Renee finds a videotape on the front steps that contains a black and white image of their home. The following day, another tape is found, this one following up the original imagery with an intruder, it would appear, videotaping Fred and Renee asleep in bed. At a party later, Fred is confronted by a chalk white skinned individual (Robert Blake, in what is, so far, his last role to date) who informs him he knows him, and that he is also at his home right then, which is corroborated by Fred phoning his home only to speak to the mystery man while he also stands in front of him. Shortly thereafter, Fred suddenly finds himself in jail, Renee dead, and the police believing he is responsible.
Lost Highway then switches gears, and we are introduced to Pete (Balthazar Getty), a mechanic who is the favorite of a sadistic mob boss, Mr. Eddy (Robert Loggia), who has a stunning blonde girlfriend, Alice (also Patricia Arquette). Pete and Alice begin to have an affair and make plans to run away together, but Pete is troubled by strange memories of things that happened a few nights ago that he can't fully remember and unnerving dreams.
Lost Highway, like Lynch's 2001 film Mulholland Drive, deals in elements of identity, memory, and guilt. Upon watching the whole film, you can kind of see what Lynch is trying for, and there are elements that seem to fit together, but nothing you can concretely say makes much sense if you follow your ideas through. The film has a very non-linear, dreamlike quality that, as mentioned above, Lynch would revisit in Mulholland Drive, but this very much seems to be a dress rehearsal for that later, better received film.
However, while some can content themselves by calling Lynch a visual stylist and surrealist and forgiving him his trespasses, the rest of us who are looking for something in a film beyond a string of stunning images are, frankly, largely out of luck. In the end, the real problem with Lost Highway is not so much its convoluted narrative, but its lack of character development. The way Lynch directs his actors (and considering they all perform about the same, I find it difficult to believe it isn't Lynch calling the shots on this) much of the dialogue is delivered in a short, clipped and detached manner, as if the need to include words was an afterthought to Lynch who doesn't quite want to make a silent film. We learn little to nothing about the characters, there is no background, no insight into them as people, they are merely pawns for Lynch's visually driven plot machinations, not people. It doesn't help that the narrative suddenly changes focus at midpoint, and we are left dealing with a new set of characters and story that may or may not be connected to the earlier scenes. Again, these characters are thinly drawn, more types than three dimensional humans.
Lost Highway displays Lynch's typical fascination with the 1950's. Both of the characters Arquette essays are traditional femme fatales, steeped in noir filmmaking, and most of the characters wear leather jackets, drive 50s cars or motorcycles and smoke rather ceaselessly. Loggia's performance as Mr. Eddy feels like a mid-Century mob boss and Pullman seems to channel a Beat-era avant garde musician. Again, it is all about Lynch assembling the imagery that intrigues him, less about telling a coherent story.
With all that being said, Lost Highway can still draw you in at times. Many of the encounters involving Pete and Alice have an undeniable erotic charge to them and a flashback scene revealing how Alice and Mr. Eddy first met is a potent mix of sex and danger that is engrossing. The early scenes that introduce the mystery elements are also at times hypnotizing, but as the film draws to a close, and things don't really start adding up, and we are dealing with characters we don't really care about, Lost Highway begins deflating and we are left scratching our heads about what it all might mean.
Lost Highway was one of Lynch's last gasps of popular success. He followed it up with The Straight Story, a very traditional drama that proved he could make a "normal" film, then Mulholland Drive which fit squarely in the Lynchian typical style that received a lot of critical acclaim but again suffered from the same issues that plague Lost Highway. Since then, Lynch has made only one full-length feature, 2006's little seen Inland Empire. Lynch is definitely not for everyone, I might tolerate him better than many, but Lost Highway is a typical sample of what you can usually expect from the director: gorgeous imagery, glossing over a somewhat vacant, at times frustrating, core. I wouldn't be surprised if he wouldn't want it any other way.