Film Review: Inland Empire
INLAND EMPIRE is about truth, identity, and reality.
To be perfectly honest, there was a long period when I had no idea how to approach David Lynch. Relying upon the interpretations of my peers, I believed that everything he directed were long metaphors riddled with symbolism that could be deciphered if I tried hard enough. Perhaps my most desperate moments during these attempts came when I found myself watching Lost Highway twice back-to-back with a yellow legal pad in hand, scrupulously taking notes. I was going about it wrongly. It was my fault, really. I was listening to my peers when I should have listened to Lynch.
Once I heard (and read) what he had to say about making Twin Peaks and his early short films my perspective changed. Not everything in his films has meaning, I realized. Sometimes scenes are there only for a visceral reaction. Other times simply because Lynch “liked how they looked.” To make an overstatement: It was like liberation. I was free to enjoy Lynch’s work without analyzing it. Strangely, when I stopped approaching films like Lost Highway as cryptograms I understood them more, but in a nonverbal way. I even realized that—shock of all shocks—David Lynch is hilarious. The crowd gathered for our local screening of INLAND EMPIRE evidently hadn’t discovered this yet. They all glared intensely at the screen and shot me dirty looks when I laughed. Apparently serious films are not supposed to be funny.
If I hadn’t already abandoned my own rigorous academic mindset, I can safely say that I would have hated INLAND EMPIRE, one of the most experimental—yet most complete—films that Lynch has made. Lynch himself said of the film, “as soon as you put things in words, no one ever sees the film the same way. And that's what I hate, you know. Talking—it's real dangerous.” Which is why I cannot give a thorough summary of the film. Actually, the film itself is the reason I can’t give a summary. There is no linear plot. Well, there is for about thirty minutes, but that is before everything goes to hell. (Normally, that would be a bad thing to say about a film, but it seems like that is exactly where Lynch wanted it to go.) Still, for the sake of review, I will take a stab at it.
It is the story of the actress Nikki Grace (played masterfully and humanely by Laura Dern). Early in the film Nikki receives an unnamed visitor (a both terrifying and funny Grace Zabriskie) who tells her two ominous parables. The next day, Nikki is given the role of Sue in On High in Blue Tomorrows, a sticky melodrama about lust, infidelity, and consequences. Her partner on screen is Devon, playing the role of Billy (Justin Theroux, who seems to excel at playing the lovable sleaze). They learn that their film may be cursed—or at least based on a folktale about a curse. Their director, Kingsley Stewart (played by Jeremy Irons, no less), confesses to them that this is not the first time the film has been made, but the previous Polish version was never finished because the two leads were murdered, much like their onscreen counterparts. Gradually, the line between Sue’s reality and Nikki’s reality begins to blur, and she cannot tell the two lives apart. At one point she is warning Devon (or Billy) of her jealous husband’s wrath when she exclaims, “This sounds just like dialogue from our script!” Stewart yells cut in frustration. It was dialogue from their script.
Once Nikki/Sue discovers a hole between realities in a back alley (or her own consciousness, or both), any foothold on the real world is lost. Nikki—and the audience—are rapidly tugged between her life, Sue’s life, the life of a woman in Eastern Europe, and the original folktale (and probably more). All of this is framed within the story of a woman watching everything unfold on a television screen (or in her mind’s eye, or both). Of course, the prostitute may actually be in Nikki’s head. And I haven’t even mentioned the rabbits yet, or “The Loco-Motion.”
Hopefully this helps to illustrate Lynch’s point about putting his film into words. You can’t. (Just for perspective, that last paragraph was a bit shorter than the one before it, but it describes about 5/6 of the film.) INLAND EMPIRE is long—three hours—and meandering, but it projects a complete picture for the audience. There are gaps, to be sure. “I never saw any whole, W-H-O-L-E,” Lynch said, “I saw plenty of holes, H-O-L-E-S. But I didn't really worry.” Through these holes the film explores the connections and breakdowns between film and reality, story and film, characters and people, collective self and individual self. Abstractly, INLAND EMPIRE is about truth, identity, and reality. Trying to pin these themes down concretely can be difficult. I think Lynch has already told audiences the best way to take in the film without being profoundly frustrated: Don’t worry. Feel free to puzzle over it, but don’t fret over it. And you can laugh at the funny parts.
INLAND EMPIRE
Directed by: David Lynch
Cast: Laura Dern, Jeremy Irons, Harry Dean Stanton