In many ways Lost Highway is quintessential David Lynch. There are strobe lights, doppelgangers, and twisted symbols of Americana. Yet, unlike his dreamier films, Lost Highway has a heavy metal intensity. The music is aggressive, miles away from Angelo Badalamenti’s iconic Twin Peaks score, and Lynch’s approach to sex and the female body has a teenage lewdness, almost in the style of Marilyn Manson, who has a cameo in the film. This criterion Blu Ray rightfully celebrates Lost Highway as one of Lynch’s most visceral films, but the supplements provided do little to enrichen the jarring elements of the piece. In fact, the initially confounding plot becomes disappointingly simple upon watching the extras on this Blu Ray. Nevertheless, the moments slathered in thick Lynchian dread, with droning noises and all, overshadow any faults in an otherwise brilliant neo-noir.
Saxophone player Fred Madison (Bill Pullman), lives in a sterile property with his impassive wife Renee (Patricia Arquette). Their stilted marriage is disturbed when video tapes begin arriving on their doorstep featuring footage of their house, inside and out. Darkness begins to enclose around Fred and, before he realises it, he has seemingly murdered Renee. Thrown in a cell, Fred begins to transform into Pete Dayton (Balthazar Getty), a teenage mechanic who has fallen under the influence of big-time criminal Mr Eddy (Robert Loggia). The lives of Fred and Pete begin to merge when Pete falls for Mr Eddy’s girl Alice Wakefield, also played by Arquette. Darkness begins to gather again, as Pete finds himself involved in a porno crime ring overseen by an omnipotent Mystery Man (Robert Blake) who says he has met both Pete and Fred before.
Like most Lynch films, it isn’t worth getting tangled in the intricacies of the plot. Lost Highway works best as a series of resonances, all of which so rich in feeling, that usually being dread, that it is impossible to not get invested in the inaccessible narrative. Nothing epitomises this more than the early scene between Fred and the Mystery Man. The latter stares intensely at Fred, his eyes piercing through the white makeup dappled on his face, while he informs Fred that he is inexplicably in his house while he stands in front of him. It’s an iconic scene which still chills to the bone, even more so in context of Blake’s murky involvement with his wife’s murder five years later. These intense surreal moments sees Lynch at his best.
It is clear in the supplemental documentaries provided on this Blu Ray that Lynch works primarily from these instances of intense feeling while keeping the plot vague. The actors repeatedly hypothesising what they think the film is about in The Making of Lost Highway, one of the supplemental pieces, underlines the secretive process Lynch practices. Indeed, many of the most intensely strange parts of the film were taken from Lynch’s life, a common thread of his filmmaking. The intercom which whispers “Dick Laurant is dead” to Fred in the film’s opening, for example, is lifted from the very same event which happened to Lynch. There are more examples, many told in the brilliant memoir/biography Room to Dream, where Kristine McKenna’s biographical picture of Lynch’s life is echoed by his own retelling of events, told with his iconic boy scout gusto. This book, of which the chapter ‘Next Door to Dark’ features as an audio recording on this Blu Ray, showcases the patchwork of surreal events Lynch stores in his subconscious, ready to be employed in a later production, art piece, song, etcetera. This peeling back of the curtain on Lynch’s instinctual process is where the Blu Ray extras are at their most effective.
Lynch has never been a subtle filmmaker, but some of the grating musical choices in the film go beyond obvious into cringey. That being said, the use of David Bowie’s ‘I’m Deranged’ in the opening credits is perfectly haunting, to the point of forgiveness.
At their worst, they demystify the film. Clips of Lynch and co-writer Barry Gifford explaining their interest in psychogenic fugues, referring to when one takes on a different persona to protect the mind from trauma, sucks any of the mystery from the baffling body change at the centre of the film. What is initially a brain buckling twist is quickly explained into monotony. Similarly, the film noir side to Lost Highway is considerably less interesting than anything Lynchian. The film’s climactic ending is confusing à la Raymond Chandler film noir, but this feels hollow next to the surreal mysteries summoned from Lynch’s subconscious.
The depiction of sex in the film is equally empty. Much of the emphasis of the behind-the-scenes featurettes is on the difficulty of Patricia Arquette’s roles as Renee and Alice. Lynch and others nod to tricky feats integral to her characters, without explicitly naming the lewd scenes expected of her. Renee and Alice, particularly the latter, are subject to some eye candy scenes, perfect ammunition for Laura Mulvey. While relevant to the plot, the pressure put onto Arquette’s nude body, particularly in a ridiculous desert sex scene, is uncomfortable. She does acknowledge the sexuality of her characters in The Making of Lost Highway, showcasing her authorial mark on her roles. Yet, the revelation that she cried between takes in Pretty as a Picture: The Art of David Lynch overrides most excuses.
The music too is curiously jarring. Lynch himself stated that “There’s a lot of music that’s great but doesn’t live inside the picture”, most obviously ‘Rammstein’, a German gothic metal song. Perhaps intended to lend the film more intensity, it retranslates Lynch’s dark visuals as edgy and punky. Lynch has never been a subtle filmmaker, but some of the grating musical choices in the film go beyond obvious into cringey. That being said, the use of David Bowie’s ‘I’m Deranged’ in the opening credits is perfectly haunting, to the point of forgiveness.
Ignore the ear-bleeding tunes and discomforting sexual scenes, an impossible task, and Lost Highway is a mind-bending rollercoaster ride. Lynch’s filmmaking ability is always impressive, no matter the flaw, so this Criterion edition is more than justified. The extras are mostly interesting and well-made, although they offer little more than servings of Lynchian trivia. Read Room to Dream for a nuanced exploration of Lynch’s process. One audio chapter on this Blu Ray doesn’t cut it. A return to Lost Highway in another few years is inevitable. It has a magnetism and is very rewatchable, albeit at the cost of finding flaws in an otherwise brilliant mystery.
Lost Highway is out now on Criterion Collection Blu-Ray
Barney’s Archive – Lost Highway
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