LOST HIGHWAY
David Lynch has long been our national oddity, much more 
revered in France than here. ERASERHEAD, Lynch's seminal 
masterpiece of hallucinatory alienation, was a late-night 
rite of passage in our late high school, early college years. 
But it's been a while since then, and no one likes to admit 
they had a crush on TWIN PEAKS. In a new attempt at cult 
classicism, Lynch brings us "Lost Highway," which sadly 
shows that, though weird as ever, he has  lost his "common" touch.

You know the story: Man goes to jail where he turns into a younger 
man who falls in love with a mob boss's moll. An Ed-Wood type devil 
man somehow is "pulling dee strings" of the whole affair in an 
outrageous director's conceit.

The highlight of this movie is watching Patricia Arquette's 
apparently un-augmented breasts. In a few slo-mo scenes of 
her having sex, we see them rocking like the tide, illustrating 
not only their authenticity, but their general texture and 
quality; unfirm, slightly saggy, and quite sexy. That describes 
Ms. Arquette's performance and demeanor here as well. She does a 
superb job of coming across as drugged-out, but sensusal; 
goddess-like yet overly made-up and deadened. She's a 
combination of Veronica Lake and a Warhol factory smack-zombie. 
Like her breasts, what's sexy about her is how real she is; 
slightly puffy and battered, but all the sexier for her decadent 
reek of authenticity.

The always dependable Robert Loggia, a typically atmospheric 
rock score by Trent Reznor, and Lynch's dream-like camera 
movements all make the film watchable and, if you're in the 
right "mood", enjoyable.  But considering this movie rambles 
on for well over 2 hours and ultimately says nothing... we 
can't recommend it at this time.

RATING: *1/2