INLAND EMPIRE (David Lynch, 2006, USA)

I just saw for the second time David Lynch’s video opus INLAND EMPIRE, part of a midnight Lynch series at the IFC Center. In many ways it was the optimal venue to see this movie: with a crowd, at a special screening, held beyond exhaustion (it was after 3 when the movie let out). Mostly, though, the screening was an oppurtunity for a close viewing of an incredible and puzzling film which I had already seen once.

A note about repeat viewings: Most of my favorite films ever, I have watched twice, usually in close succession. Not because I missed something, or didn’t “get it.” But because a good film usually holds a lot of mystery, can pass by the perceptive gaze without enough cognizance, and is usually just the beginning of getting into the work. I think all short-form “experimental” films should be screened at least twice in a row. This is the way we did it in film school during class workshops and critiques. “Project it again!” I recall a professor shouting, before even beginning to discuss the film critically. The method allows one pass for perception, a gleaning of aesthetic and mood, a swallowing whole. The second pass for closer reading and consideration—a chance to expound theories and crack codes.

That said, after my second run of INLAND EMPIRE, I was convinced, although not right away, at the power and completion of this movie. Firstly, I’m confounded by the claims that this film is essentially randomly constructed, with a disjointed series of dreamlike scenes. Certainly the film is non-linear, and an amalgam of styles, ideas, and set-peices—but the film actually uses a different logic of connectiveness than one might be used to. Rather than using plot or characterization as development, even abandoned the notion of cause-and-effect, INLAND EMPIRE instead plays out as an emotional progression, using instead referential linkages (mystery objects, like a silk with a hole burned though, a screwdriver, and that damned monkey) to tie the movie together. More subconscious than conscious, the logic extends across settings and tonal planes, and is a mostly exhilarating ride, if the viewer is up to it. And by the time that final act arrives, with the big, emotional song accompanied by a montage of moments from the film-world, it’s hard not feel some kind of denoument has taken place.

Also noteworthy—in this film more than Lynch’s recent work (most likely a product of self-funding)—is the interest in experimental imagery and abstraction. Lynch has spoken widely about his love of the imperfect nature of video, it’s ease of use, but also with the mystery that it instills within the image. By not allowing the viewer to know exactly what is happening, one of Lynch’s most important techniques gets direct, imagery-influenced currency. Utilizing darkness, blurred contrasts, relentless hand-held vision, untrained focus, and a careful, purposely use of video effects, reveals an interest in mostly ungraceful media forms for largely grace-infused (a hardknock grace, sometimes) content: this is Lynch’s great tension, whereby he juggles high art, and pop (including Hollywood chic), by way of risky melodrama and avant garde cinema.

Take for evidence, despite all the chair-squirming scenes and nap-inducing meandering, the true filmic transcendence he can achieve. Recall that most affecting of scenes in the movie (you know the one: Laura Dern dying, homeless Hollywood, one-legged prostitutes, “No more blue tomorrows.”) When the scene concludes, and we have the big pull-back, revealing the set and camera, the actors leaving, we must not feel cheated (as in the classic groaner, “It was all a dream”), because the motive is not to sweep the rug out from under movie magic, but rather it is revelation. It reminds us that magic moments like this happen all the time, whether “real” or scripted doesn’t matter, because even in the movies, it’s really happening. Anyone who has worked on a film set is familiar with this feeling: watching a drama unfold in pure, silent, isolation only to get shuttered back to reality with the call of “cut.” Even dream logic is human logic, something we all relate to. To diminish it for a lack of real world applicability is to not understand the real world, or human emotion and motives.

For all its linkages, the movie actually appears as an improvisation—which it largely is. Anyone who has read about the film knows that it began with Laura Dern’s improvisational interview monologue. Watching closely, you can even see Dern’s eyes searching for her next subject. This speech quite literally lays the groundwork for the emotional thrust of the film, and most of its narrative points, too. Working without a script (Lynch wrote dialogue for scenes the day of), or improvising scenes is nothing new to cinema. Lynch just uses those as his principal modes of expression here, and rather than using improvisation to fill in or aid his work, he let it guide the film wherever it would go. It’s a truly brave technique, and for someone like Lynch with so much creative energy and spirit, it is essential for an unmediated expressive cinema. This is pure Lynch.

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