The fact that I just got this on Netflix spawned a discussion about Lynch last night over a few beers with some cinephile friends. Do I love to hate him for his repetitive use of blonde vs. brunette/good vs. evil archetype? His insistence of weaving in his autobiographical social awkwardness and difficulty with verbal communication into every film? The fact that no matter how many cryptic ideas he presents for you to interpret, there is no actual interpretation? His love of the obscure, sexually perverse, and underworld concepts? Maybe he's actually a genius, thumbing his nose at the camera and his audience, telling all of us that "hey, my films are obscure for the sake of it. Period." Maybe this series will shed more light on my true feelings for this director.
Coincidentally, I found this image on Ffffound.com tonight. David Lynch's Mulholland Drive late-night theater scene with the Spanish-language Roy Orbison song, any one?
2 comments:
I hate that motherfucker.
Is there a greater example of unfulfilled promise than this show? No. None more great. Still worth watching, and it ALMOST redeems itself by the series finale, but the whole does not live up to the pilot ep. Sad. For a few days, there, I thought that network TV offerings could be subversive and weird and delightful. But no--we had to wait YEARS for Six Feet Under (on cable, yet). Network TV has yet to offer anything as remotely cool and engaging as the first ep of Twin Peaks.
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