Disturbing, claustrophobic, epileptic, theoretical film. Impossible to decipher at a first viewing, but always on the edge of the inaccessible. A game of Russian dolls, a collection of parallel universes, cinema within cinema. Or a way for Lynch to subtly mock the audience with a film shot in digital without a script. Or all of this together, or everything opposite. An extreme experience in content, experimentalism, and length, which may please the most hardened Lynch fans (some even see it as his masterpiece), or irritate. As far as I'm concerned, it remains an indigestible hodgepodge, far from the dreamlike and heart-wrenching wonder of Mulholland Drive and the revolutionary, otherworldly power of Lost Highway.
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