Lost Highway, even by David Lynch standards, is a strange, schizophrenic movie. It is split into two stylistically and narratively distinct halves. The first half is easily the best of the two. It unfolds like a minimalist horror movie, as Bill Pullman and Patricia Arquette slink around their dark apartment, with suspicions of infidelity between them and unnerving appearances of a seemingly omniscient mystery man. While even this superior first half has none of the soulfulness that makes even the most bizarre of Lynch's works truly great, it is sleek and stylish, and Lynch has never used his knack for suspense to better effect. The scene with the mystery man at the party is utterly unforgettable - the kind of warped, genuinely scary scene that only could have come from the mind of David Lynch.
After about an hour, Lost Highway dramatically and abruptly switches gears. The second half is more akin to one of Lynch's previous films, Wild at Heart - it's grotesquely violent and sexual, a darkly comic film noir on acid. And also like Wild at Heart, there are indelible moments of surrealism and twisted genius in Lost Highway's last act, but it all seems far too soulless, affected and meaningless in its depravity. The violence and nudity becomes tiring, and just seems like Lynch showing off - I craved more of the subdued eeriness that permeated the first half. It's unfortunate, because Lost Highway does seem to be pursuing genuinely interesting themes in the last half - ones that Lynch would cover more fully and poignantly in Mulholland Drive a few years later. If seen as a sort of dry run for the masterful Mulholland Drive, Lost Highway's shortcomings become a bit more forgivable. As is, Lost Highway is a fascinating mess, sometimes offensive and sometimes head-scratching, but often brilliant and always intriguing.
After about an hour, Lost Highway dramatically and abruptly switches gears. The second half is more akin to one of Lynch's previous films, Wild at Heart - it's grotesquely violent and sexual, a darkly comic film noir on acid. And also like Wild at Heart, there are indelible moments of surrealism and twisted genius in Lost Highway's last act, but it all seems far too soulless, affected and meaningless in its depravity. The violence and nudity becomes tiring, and just seems like Lynch showing off - I craved more of the subdued eeriness that permeated the first half. It's unfortunate, because Lost Highway does seem to be pursuing genuinely interesting themes in the last half - ones that Lynch would cover more fully and poignantly in Mulholland Drive a few years later. If seen as a sort of dry run for the masterful Mulholland Drive, Lost Highway's shortcomings become a bit more forgivable. As is, Lost Highway is a fascinating mess, sometimes offensive and sometimes head-scratching, but often brilliant and always intriguing.