Lost Highway (1997)

I think this is a new genre that they're all sort of working their way through it and haven't got all the kinks worked out yet but it's a genre that works for me.

A movie that not only functions as a solid scarefest but a razor-sharp satire.

A clunky actioner with a handful of cool moments.

The story, direction, characters, and writing/dialogue is akin to taking a tranquilizer shot to the neck, but everything else was so well done.

If Mulholland Dr. is kind of like a dream, then this is a nightmare. It's similarly ambiguous and beautiful in it's own way. But it's also much more eerie, creepy and at times downright scary... fans of Mulholland will probably also appreciate this. Soundtrack is also awesome: Pumpkins, Manson and Rammstein among others!

This movie is a complete waste of time. The directing is the worst I've ever seen... Plot zero and acting below average. There is no meaning or even a reason to create something like this. Don't watch it even if you reach 98 years old.

Film Review: "Lost Highway" (1997)So elegantly shot alongside cinematographer Peter Deming, when director David Lynch delivers another haunting Barry Gifford novel adaptation, when character Fred Mason, performed at his career best Bill Pullman, gets into a fight then crisis with beloved wife Renee, who builds an alter ego to make her husband see that we are out time, out game and out of love to desperately surreal transitions with mind, body, character shifts that any spectre must be on its heels to follow, when everything comes along by the end to name "Lost Highway" the very first "David Lynch Movie" with its well-deserved labeling.Copyright 2018 Cinemajesty Entertainments LLC

Lost Highway finds Lynch just as confused as his audience. He exploits Patricia Arquette to no end, showing us her naked body as though it were a Star Wars special effect every few minutes. As a feminist accidentally born with testicles, I found this very offensive. Furthermore, I couldn't help but feel this movie has a conservative message underneath all the flash and weirdness. When we see Patricia Arquette on a movie screen, in a porno film, near the end of the movie, a harsh, seeming gregorian chant from a Ramstein song (and let's not pretend we don't know what THOSE GUYS represent..,) plays on the soundtrack. In an almost Spielbergian gesture of fascist filmmaking, the audience is forced to find something negative in a woman's choice to do with her body what she wants. Shame on you, Mr. Lynch!When you pull apart the pieces of Lost Highway and examine them, the movie doesn't make much sense, I'm afraid to say. I'm one of those people who loves to claim that, "If you didn't like it, you didn't get it!" But I'm afraid here, I can't defend modern art with that old standby. The fact of the matter is, Mr. Lynch's warmup for his masterpiece, Mulholland Dr., is an emperor with no clothes.