MOVIE OF THE MONTH
JULY ‘25
MOVIE OF THE MONTH
JULY ‘25
INLAND EMPIRE
Directed by David Lynch | 2006 | 180 min
“I HAVE SEEN DOGS REASON THEIR WAY OUT OF PROBLEMS.”
Our collective relationship with David Lynch’s work largely began when we screened Mulholland Drive in our namesake dorm room, 308. As the film concluded, we stared at the screen, mildly nauseated, and AJ declared it the worst movie he’d ever seen. I might’ve agreed, had I not already seen Lynch’s earlier film Eraserhead (which remains the closest approximation of hell I’ve ever encountered on film). Inland Empire, however, differs from the rest of Lynch’s filmography in one key way: it’s three hours long.
And that’s not a good thing.
Yet, we continue to throw ourselves into his work. Though his films, like Inland Empire, are exercises in patience—dragging the audience through frustrating dream-like sequences—they are nothing if not memorable. There are countless “average” or “fine” films I’ve seen that, with time, recede into cloudy recesses of memory. But Lynch’s work—it sticks with you—and Inland Empire is no exception.
In the film, Nikki (Laura Dern) is an actress slowly losing her grip on reality. The line between truth and fiction blurs as her latest role begins to invade her livelihood, her memories and her sense of self. In its portrayal of nightmarish dream logic, the film excels. Digital handheld cameras fill the frame with sweaty, overexposed faces that create extreme discomfort for the viewer. The film is anchored by recurring visual motifs, most notably, a family of anthropomorphic rabbits trapped in their sitcom living room. This is an approach that Lynch uses across his films and a technique that we explored ourselves with Milk Noir.
In shooting Milk Noir, we wanted to create a film that was narratively loose; a thematic mystery where aesthetic and dream logic were the priority. We felt that milk made for a strong image and used empty milk gallons as a visual anchor point for the audience. They lead the protagonist through a hazy dreamscape where everything only ever half makes sense. When you make a film like that—love him or hate him—there’s only one director you look to for guidance. And though his garish, irritating films can test our patience, we do love him. Because nobody could recount their McDonald’s order, the makings of a perfect milkshake, or the rescue of five Woody Woodpecker dolls (formerly his boys) quite like David Lynch could.
INLAND
EMPIRE
Directed by David Lynch
2006 | 180 min
“I HAVE SEEN DOGS REASON THEIR WAY OUT OF PROBLEMS.”
Our collective relationship with David Lynch’s work largely began when we screened Mulholland Drive in our namesake dorm room, 308. As the film concluded, we stared at the screen, mildly nauseated, and AJ declared it the worst movie he’d ever seen. I might’ve agreed, had I not already seen Lynch’s earlier film Eraserhead (which remains the closest approximation of hell I’ve ever encountered on film). Inland Empire, however, differs from the rest of Lynch’s filmography in one key way: it’s three hours long.
And that’s not a good thing.
Yet, we continue to throw ourselves into his work. Though his films, like Inland Empire, are exercises in patience—dragging the audience through frustrating dream-like sequences—they are nothing if not memorable. There are countless “average” or “fine” films I’ve seen that, with time, recede into cloudy recesses of memory. But Lynch’s work—it sticks with you—and Inland Empire is no exception.
In the film, Nikki (Laura Dern) is an actress slowly losing her grip on reality. The line between truth and fiction blurs as her latest role begins to invade her livelihood, her memories and her sense of self. In its portrayal of nightmarish dream logic, the film excels. Digital handheld cameras fill the frame with sweaty, overexposed faces that create extreme discomfort for the viewer. The film is anchored by recurring visual motifs, most notably, a family of anthropomorphic rabbits trapped in their sitcom living room. This is an approach that Lynch uses across his films and a technique that we explored ourselves with Milk Noir.
In shooting Milk Noir, we wanted to create a film that was narratively loose; a thematic mystery where aesthetic and dream logic were the priority. We felt that milk made for a strong image and used empty milk gallons as a visual anchor point for the audience. They lead the protagonist through a hazy dreamscape where everything only ever half makes sense. When you make a film like that—love him or hate him—there’s only one director you look to for guidance. And though his garish, irritating films can test our patience, we do love him. Because nobody could recount their McDonald’s order, the makings of a perfect milkshake, or the rescue of five Woody Woodpecker dolls (formerly his boys) quite like David Lynch could.
