(*My month of catching up on
David Lynch films continues.*)
So this is Lynch's
Vertigo, then. And who better to try the guy-with-a-head-injury-living-two-noir-realities thing? A battle of parallel/contrasting timelines, in a film that (I'm pretty sure) makes as much sense backwards as forwards? How do you not at least try this? How does Lynch (of all people) not?
There are definitely some plot holes (inconsistencies? quibbles? eh.) that are hand-waved away with time shifts and hallucinations, but a film like this was always going to sink or swim on its style over its narrative arc, and at this point in his career, Lynch had his style
down. His calling cards are everywhere: blood-red curtains, endless corridors, spotlights punctuating bottomless shadows, inspired stuntcasting (Richard Pryor! Gary Busey! Henry Rollins!), moody covers of classic songs, and more narrative misdirections than an excited 6-year-old. It's supposed to be a little bit sexy, and a little bit silly. That's part of the point. That second murder scene is frankly hilarious.
Also, well done on casting Robert Blake in what, in hindsight, turned out to be the perfect role for him (derogatory).