:: Rose's apartment was swell...
I just watched
Mulholland Drive. I knew nothing about this film by David Lynch, but it came "recommended". Unfortunately, that Rose's apartment set was swell is about all I can recommend about this boring piece of public diddling.
Like the overblown performance art that captures the vapid imaginations of "art" critics, this film would have been better as a concept unrealized. But then, what would panderers of self-conscious pseudo-intellect have to foist on gullible voyeurs?
Just what is it that makes people not only slaver over such bilge, but actually fund and promote it? I am reminded of the travesty bestowed by the Brits on the so-called cutting edge "The Lights Going On and Off" that garnered last years
Turner Prize. How fitting that Madonna made the presentation. But I digress.
While I started watching with curiosity and engagement, I left off somewhere near the end, not giving a hoot about what "it means". I quite enjoyed the sets and locales and being a life-long Angelino, did the usual spotting and calling out of places. I should have realized these were signs of boredom, but I persisted. I have this thing about finishing what I start. But the "story" itself was lost in the self-absorption of some wierd sort of garbled ethereal "message" that was itself clueless. I just couldn't make myself watch the whole thing and turned it off.
Having been told the ending was "worth" watching, I was game to once again examine what I had abandoned. Turns out, it was only the last 10 minutes. How can a movie be so bad that with only ten minutes left to go, you just say, "This is stupid" and walk away? It's true. And, sorry to say, the reward for watching the end was zilch, nada, niente. It was one BFD.
Adio, caro David Lynch. You have friends enough and one less will no doubt will do you no harm.
Now let me say what I really mean. In the words of my friend, The Bear, "What a pretentious piece of pusillanimous and utterly solipsistic self-indulgent dreck.".
