LOST HIGHWAY: An Annoted Review

There are minor spoilers. There are footnotes.

Finally the film that explores the horrors of premature ejaculation!

With LOST HIGHWAY, Lynch pulls back the sheets and blows his strobes across the dark, private nightmares of a hair-trigger Johnson. Sure it takes two and a half hours for the goop to dry into something that makes some sense, but it’s quality time spent in that grotesque lynchian hell who’s gateway lies beneath every shapely skirt(1).

In the plodding opening scenes Lynch lays the ground work for the concept of circular time (which by the end of the film has been twisted more into the shape of a pretzel(2)) and the rich characterizations the director is famous for.

Kyle MacLachlan, played efficiently enough by Bill Pullman, is a jazz musician who spends his free hours standing around in the dark. Patricia Arquette, who despite rumors to the contrary does wear some clothes in this picture,
plays his equally flamboyant wife. A pensive air of confinement and mistrust permeates the household while mysterious videotapes keep appearing on the front porch.

The action begins to pick up when Ms. Arquette strips down, revealing her wondrous body. Gentlemen, this chick is fine; endowed with what we in the industry refer to as a "great grabbin' butt"(3) she slides into the sack for her first sex act of the movie. Unfortunately, Lynch chose to shoot this scene from a vantage point about two inches
above the fortunate Mr. Pullmans’ shoulders. We are treated to about 90 seconds of those shoulder blades then Pullman pops his cork and a Faustian bargain is struck with a bald-headed mystery man played by Baretta.

This is where we stomp the accelerator and go tear-assin’ down the mythical "Lost Highway." I’m not gonna ruin the rest of the film for those of you who haven’t seen the thing, suffice to say: Lynch fans will not be disappointed. The director uses his full bag of tricks,
chronic over/under exposure, extreme close-ups of the human mouth, spilled brain tissue, crazy driving as character development, over produced room noise, ethereal music to symbolize true love(4), frequent non-sequitors, nudity, physical deformities, secret porno culture, parallel worlds of cryptic symbolism, murder, pop music, etc. At one point Balthazar Getty even steps in and wrestles the role of
Kyle MacLachlan away from Mr. Pullman! David Lynch, a True Genius.

In fact the only thing about the whole movie-going experience that sucked were the "other" Lynch fans. Their incessant barks of "hah" and "oh" and forced laughter at the top of their lungs made this reviewer feel like he was sitting on a rock with a bunch of braindead seals watching a smoker play at feeding time. Great, you "get it." I mean Christ people, who are you trying to impress? Each
other? Look around. Wake up and smell the geek, for God’s sake. And try keeping quiet. You are not cool. You are not hip. You are annoying and boring and I’m embarrassed for you.




(1) For more insight into the hay-nanny-nanny as the gates of hell concept, readers in the Philadelphia area should check out the low rent grind house ALL IN THE FAMILY. A live action sexual freakshow which features a puffy 40+ year old woman doing interpretive dance to Roy Orbison songs for an audience of banished Amish outcasts and the
bar owner himself who sits opposite the door inhaling oxygen from a tank/facemask combo unit he carries in his lap. I kid you not.

(2) The pretzel is a staple food in the city of Philadelphia.

(3) This is actually a testimonial to good lighting. Having once spotted Ms. Arquette in public I was surprised at the glorious screen presence of her dumper. When I saw her in person it looked like you could have landed a hang-glider on her can.

(4) With the ‘80s Goth uber project This Mortal Coil’s "Song for the Sirens" standing in for Julee Cruise during the sex scenes. Liz Fraiser, vocalist on the song, once refered to the tune as "Swill for the Sirens" and was repulsed to learn people made love to her music, an
idea now immortalized on film!

Sadly All in the Family has closed after the death of it's owner. It's a little "classier" now I hear.