Tell me if you recognize me from somewhere

I've seen Inland Empire twice. While I can't call my self a rabid David Lynch fan (G-Train, stand up and take a bow), I greatly admire many of his films and his vision. He is an uncompromising and wholly original ... I don't want to call him a filmmaker because I don't think he makes films, I think he creates expressionistic paintings that have motion and dialogue. I usually fall at the altar of the gritty hyper-realism of John Cassavetes or the rich character studies of Francis Ford Coppola, but with Lynch, surprisingly, I find that I gravitate to his more abstract films. For me, these films of his are much more personal and involving and much less calculating - and I would agree with an assertion I read calling Mulholland Drive the best film of the decade so far, and it's very high on my list of all-time favorite films.

But going into the premiere of Inland Empire (and a hearty thanks to the aforementioned G-Train for scoring the tix), I must confess I had a sense of trepidation. I was expecting not to like it. I read that it was dense. I heard that Lynch was going for broke, throwing everything into it - including Rabbits - and that it was loooooong. To the occasionally closed mind of mine, that smacked of self-indulgence. But because this was David Lynch going for it and not, say, Michael Bay, I at least stayed open to it. Early reviews were not encouraging so my expectations were low, but I was still really looking forward to seeing the film nonetheless.

Lynch was at the premiere - which, c'mon, was too cool for school - and after introducing the film by way of a trumpet improvisation, the lights went down. Three hours later, they came back up, leaving brains alternately swimming and stewing. I knew instantly that I liked this film. What I like even more was that I could not immediately tell you why. It was an experience and not an event. As mentioned above, to me, Lynch's films are kinetic, abstract paintings and not simply "high-concept" movies. You are left to interpret what you've just seen. The film becomes yours, in a sense, to make of it what you will and it's open to virtually any theory. That's exciting to me. I may not agree with what you got out of it but damn, man, nobody's wrong and let's go trade opinions in the lobby or over a drink or, even better, for months afterward about all these ideas that are like superballs, bouncing all over the place. And I think that's Lynch's intention. He has a canvas that he wants to create, a pretty good idea of what he wants to express, looks at his canvas and says "This corner could use a little more red," "Let's blend these colors a little more," "A splash of gray here," then present it for you to interpret. But he will refuse to define it and will explain nothing because he wants you to pull something out of it, to work for it.

And the thing is ... these films ... they're ethereal. Swirls, colors, shapes and shadows. Visions and nightmares. We can almost grasp them but they are always just a bit beyond our reach. You can almost get your head around it and fit the pieces of his puzzles together - but there's always that one piece that doesn't quite fit and throws a wrench in your concept. Every time you look at it again, you see something new, a new idea is born or something you once thought is contradicted and yet everything, no matter what, still seems to fit. And I constantly come back to look at it again. Which always leaves me asking in amazement: "How do you write that?!"

So what is Inland Empire about? I don't know and I wonder if definition is important. What did you get from it? I think that's the thing. You have to see it a few times, like any painting you can't quite get your head around but are constantly drawn back to - you don't know what it is but you can't take your eyes off it.

What directors are out there today doing this kind of work, defiantly pursuing their vision at their own expense? Hollywood wouldn't give Lynch a dime to make this film. How could they they market this? What would a focus group think? He shot it himself, cut it himself and he had to distribute this film himself, like Cassavetes had to with A Woman Under The Influence or Coppola did with One From The Heart (maybe not a classic but pretty underrated). For all the empty talk of "independent films" and "auteurs" and all the other corporate/publicist related crap being jammed down our throats these days, do everybody a favor and go put down the $11 to see a film made by a guy who didn't take "no" for answer and put everything he wanted to do on the line.