Last night Jen and I watched David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, the erotic thriller that’s more twisted than Bay Area traffic on a holiday weekend. I absolutely love movies like that. I had a good feeling about this one as soon as the movie started. I hadn’t seen a movie that actually makes you think like that since Memento. There’s so much going on, so many characters, and so many intertwined plot lines, trippy imagery, and intense scenes, that it’s nearly impossible to make sense out of the movie. So much so, in fact, that Jen and I had to go right to the Web after the movie for an explanation. We found a really good analysis of the film on Salon.com. Not until page 3 of the analysis do the writers really start analyzing. And their transition into making sense of it all best sums up the flick: “What the fuck is going on in this movie?”
Now that’s my kind of movie. And one that I will be adding to my collection soon — especially since we saw the blatantly edited Blockbuster version that blurred out some important details of the hot lesbian sex scene.
