Mulhalland Drive has to be the best
bad movie of all time. It is long,
slow and immensely watchable. I
hated this movie like Joan Crawford
hated wire hangers. But, I think I
could watch it tomorrow night.
Why? Because now I know how the
deer feels before those "strange"
lights turn into squealing breaks
and I experience brief sharp
pain as everything goes black.
Perhaps in a previous life, director
David Lynch lived as just such a
deer and the images that loosely
construct our movie came to him in
the split second before he became
venison. I'm not trying to be
funny. Something is definitely
wrong with Lynch.
Mulhalland drive provides us with an
erotic lesbian scene. I suppose
it's possible one could film an
unerotic lesbian sex scene, but I'll
give Lynch credit for filming a good
one. Also, our heroine
masturbates. That was kind of fun,
but, just as you would imagine,
less satisfying than the previously
mentioned scene. The two female
leads are, in one case, perky, blond
and, how shall I say, sexy in the
opposite way than the second
voluptuous brunet. We get to see
both of them, at various times,
naked and heaving and pouting and
all that good stuff. These are the
only reasons this movie has ever
been seen outside the studio in
which it was shot. If you disagree,
turn in your critic's cap, because
you are the poster boy/girl for P.T.
Barnum's sucker.
I cannot
believe the accolades handed to this
film. The problem with Mulhalland
Drive is that there are over 140
minutes of non-lesbian activity in
the picture. But, I was the sucker
born in January of 1968. Here I am,
turning in my critics cap.
Mulhalland Drive is a success.
I'll say
one other nice thing about David
Lynch's picture. Just as one can
remember the details of a powerful
dream, but never recount the emotion
behind the dream, so goes Mulhalland
Drive. The movie can grab you, but
describing it is like pedaling
franticly away on a bicycle with no
chain.
