In terms of operating with little or no regard for conventional narrative in modern movies- David Lynch may be the undisputed King. His movies are ciphers. Lynch films are puzzles with carefully placed clues, exquisite music (who's better with sound- in general?), astonishing acting and unexpected jolts into the shadowy heart of life’s inescapable mysteries. Lynch’s art is the inexplicable made seductive. He’s a celluloid alchemist, a noir shaman- and an American original (what other director consistently solicits such varied confusion regarding the content of his films?). There are those who dislike his movies and those of us who swear by them. He took the idea of film craftsmanship as dream illumination to its utmost horizons and Lost Highway (1997) is his most underrated film (also one of his best). A feverish, vivid, erotic nightmare you hope you'll have again tomorrow night.
Fred Madison (an uncharacteristically rugged Bill Pullman) is a sax player married to a sultry knockout (Patricia Arquette- as good as she's ever been) straight out of a Hitchcock film. When this tightly wound musician (he channels schizophrenia when he plays) gets word via his Hollywood Hills home intercom that “Dick Laurent is dead…”- the noir chords start vibrating with a dull throb all through Highway's 135 minute running time.
Any plot Highway may have quickly evaporates making room for the atmospheric choke Lynch puts on the viewer. Is Fred a wife murderer? Why does Fred turn into Pete Dayton (Bathazar Getty) while in a jail cell? Is Renee Madison (Arquette’s siren) actually Alice Wakefield? Is Mr. Eddy (Robert Loggia) pulling some of the strings? Or is that strange, pale-faced menace (a brilliant Robert Blake- reminiscent of Death in Bergman's The Seventh Seal (1957)) causing all the ruckus? Lynch won’t spell anything out for you. It is, after all, his “Lost Highway." You'll have to find your own way out- your own answers. Lost Highway is Lynch's most puzzling film that still manages to function on a satisfying storytelling level while nailing the tone of a “film noir”.
In January of 2014, director Richard Kelly (Donnie Darko (2001)) chose Lost Highway to be shown as part of a special series, The Modern School of Film, at the Arclite's wonderful Dome Theatre in Hollywood. Kelly spoke of his love for the movie claiming Lynch redefined film noir for a new generation of directors and moviegoers. It was my 2nd time seeing Highway on big screen (the 1st being when it opened in 1997). As the yellow end credits rolled over the highway to David Bowie's I'm Deranged- I was unusually aware of a curious nausea that definitely unsettled me. And it wasn't just the feeling Highway functions as a fascinating pre-surveillance period, pseudo-post-video tape commentary. I was a mess. But I was exhilarated as well.
Lost Highway bends, swirls, and U-turns around its amoral, mystifying center with the delirium of our finest films of the late 40s and 50s. Troubled Fred and his alluring wife- whether at home or away- step in and out of the darkness repeatedly- engulfed by it at times- only to emerge befuddled; ready to locate the same darkness again. Highway is in love with the dark. Lynch photographs women as good as any director the movie world has seen. Patricia Arquette has never looked better. She’s the femme fatale that'd drive any man to unspeakable acts. Lynch and cinematographer Peter Deming (also shot Lynch’s masterpiece, Mulholland Dr. (2001)) make Arquette ravishing.
Other highlights of the film include cameos by Richard Pryor and Lynch favorite, Jack Nance (in their last roles)- and a legitimately cool soundtrack featuring Lou Reed, David Bowie, Trent Reznor, Marilyn Manson and Lynch's favorite composer, Angelo Badalementi.
Lost Highway is one of the best films of the 90s.