Lost Highway
There are many people out there who spend their waking lives trying to figure out what does it all mean. In this expansive Earth, there are people out there who spend it looking for the answers until the quickness of death takes it from them in a very ironic fashion. I, myself, was pondering this very question recently. Over-tired and overworked, a cold leaking snot from my nasal orifice and a headache so severe that I thought my soul was painfully pushing out of my forehead, the thought of death, absolution and life panged against me. What does it all mean? What is life? Why are we here?
And I found an answer. The answer is David Lynch films.
It’s always David Lynch films.
Much like Cronenberg and Tarantino, it’s really hard to find a director so unique in their cinematic visions like Lynch. In fact, while the aforementioned two may have contemporaries, pale imitation of their craft, it’s really really hard to find someone as visionary as David Lynch. From The Elephant Man to Eraserhead, Blue Velvet to Mullholland Drive, Twin Peaks to Inland Empire and many many more; Lynch has solidified his legendary status in cinema with evocative, poignant and, quite frankly, surreal films that all deserve an expansive look at a later article date.
The other night, whilst ill as previously mentioned, I found myself turning to Lost Highway, a 1997 Lynch film starring the recent Oscar winner Patricia Arquette and one of the best cinematic Presidents Bill Pullman. The film, much like other Lynch counterparts, is a surreal and somewhat disturbing film. It revolves around Frank, a saxophone player who is framed for murdering his wife after the pair are ruthlessly stalked and plagued. Whilst on death row for her killing, Frank transforms into a tearaway teenager called Pete….
There’s something about the narrative and the story that resonates long after viewing. Whether it’s the twist in time that was probably basis for Donnie Darko or the conspiracy idea, Frank’s journey for redemption through Pete seems oddly balanced in a surreal way. It’s probably in this toiling plot and the presence of the mystery man who bellows and seemingly controls the waifish realms of time that helped accrue its cult status. Tackling themes of fate and redemption, the connection between Pete and Frank all seems to entwine in an unforgettable way that it feels wrong that it doesn’t have an immediate impact when it’s over.
Lynch’s offering does feel, ultimately, like a step back for the director. The visuals are very rapid and in some parts, seem hollow. The oversexualised second half feels odd against the more passionate first half - which may have been the point - but it drifts some of the focus away from the narrative. The imagery isn’t weird enough or deep enough to keep your attention. In fact, the bizarre and terrifying first half is almost squandered by a somewhat sloppy attempt to loop it altogether in the second half. It’s this weird noir element in the first part of the film is almost genius. Yet the transformation into Pete doesn’t seem explained or explored well - leaving it more at the shallow end of Lynch’s portfolio.
That being said, Lost Highway has a blearing and unforgettable soundtrack from the likes of Rammestein, Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson that adds a level of grime to the proceedings. It is perhaps one of those films that takes repeat viewings to sink in -as is the beauty of Lynch’s work. This is an initial reaction, after all and bear in mind that this was a few days ago. The brilliance of Lost Highway is that despite its failings, it still loudly bellows in your mind after your first viewing. And all I can think is - I must watch this film again.