Yesterday was simply packed, so my apologies for any lack of updates. Mea culpa. I'm sure a lot of you suffered withdrawal symptoms. Right.

Last night, I watched David Lynch's Mulholland Drive, a strange, steamy, seductive, and simply weird film, closer in tone to Lost Highway than anything else Lynch has done in recent years. This was no Straight Story -- it was twisting, twisted, labyrinthine, and completely engrossing. At one point, about an hour and a half into the movie, I was worried that the story would never make sense, but by the end it did make a strange sort of Lynchian sense. I'll have it watch it at least once more before I can say for sure what was going on, but the point of a David Lynch movie isn't always to get it -- much of the charm lies in being beguiled by the mystery and the absurdity and the bizarre atmosphere that he creates using sound, music, images, words, and never-quite-real characters and actors. Mulholland Drive was -- like Lost Highway before it -- a strange dream that's hard to awake from. Don't see it if you're easily frustrated by red herrings, loose threads, and puzzling plot-twists. But do see it if you're a Lynch-fan; this is the director at the peak of his career.

Oh, and there was lots of sensual lesbian sex. Which is never a bad thing. Trust me. If only more directors would understand this simple fact, the world would be a much better place.  ¶ 12:58