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Rating: "You and me, mister... We can really out-ugly them sum'bitches... Can't we?"
Even after so many viewings, Lost Highway never ceases to be a masterpiece and to leave doubts, to reveal hidden subliminal details in the shadows, and to offer cues for new interpretations.
Dick Laurent is dead
A Freudian essay on male psychology, deconstruction, revolution, and the transcendence of noir (with the ghosts of Wilder and Hitchcock always present), universes that intersect and overlap to reconnect by returning to square one.
Lynch's obsession with the Möbius strip finds its ultimate expression in Lost Highway, in a work complete in its incompleteness, in its collection of possibilities, alternative realities, and highways of a psyche fleeing from itself. If the mind is an Empire, there must be a way to escape somewhere.
As always in Lynch's work, sex is the center that determines impulses, desires, and frustrations, and so too are violence, death, and dissociation.
Lost Highway is still a nightmare, it is the uncanny staged through images and sounds. A film that never stops unsettling, frightening, disturbing.
The will to power and the lust for possession form the depths of the unconscious. When these are missing, the fragile balance breaks, the walls collapse, identities are lost and confused, and demons make their entrance. The mirror will no longer reflect the same inner image. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
Walking, slowly, towards darkness is a conscious choice, as is the desire to remember events in one’s own way, consciously omitting the true reality of the facts, assuming there is one. Thus creating a labyrinth with no exit and no return.
The mind is a terrible thing to taste.
And liberation can only come through electricity, to then, perhaps, get to know further dimensions, further highways. Other lodges.
What lies within these hypothetical new spaces beyond time and space is unknown to us. Assuming everything is not destined to repeat infinitely, of course. In the eternity of the loop. Anything can be.
Anything and its opposite.
After all, who knows what's inside the blue box of Mulholland Drive? Have those damned tapes ever really existed? And what does the mystery man whisper to Fred at the end, here in Lost Highway? And Laura to Cooper at the end of Twin Peaks: The Return? And what year is it?
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