Lost Highway is regarded by several reviewers and critics as David Lynch’s most Freudian work and that alone makes it significant. Of course, elements of the subconscious have been prevalent in almost all of his work, especially Eraserhead. Yet here, the ideas appear more concrete while also being more abstract in their representation. The five main characters all stand for at least one idea, then another when the movie switches gears in the final act. It could be suggested that after working on Twin Peaks and taking his obsession with duality to another level Lynch decided to make a project dealing almost wholly with duality. The main difference here is the setting. Far from the wistful Douglas Firs and gently flowing waterfall of that small Pacific Northwest town, Lost Highway is set in modern day Los Angeles with its screeching nightclubs, endless roadways and vapid parties which seem to exist only to exhibit to others the image you’ve built up for yourself. Amidst this cynical, grinding world is the story of a man who seems to inhabit many of these elements and for that reason is fated to undergo a serious change. Beyond that, in Lynch’s interpretation of Los Angeles, anything is possible.

The movie opens with a mysterious image of an endless highway at night, the camera moving at warp speed while an amped-up, demented-sounding David Bowie track aptly titled “I’m Deranged” plays. From this uncharacteristic rise in adrenaline Lynch cuts to a quiet morning in LA where a disheveled, disturbed Fred Madison (Bill Pullman) receives an ambiguous message on his house intercom. Over the next several days, he receives a few anonymous videotapes that feature footage of his house both inside and out. Nearly the entire movie is from what appears to be Fred’s perspective, although Lynch muddies this point of view when Fred later states that he doesn’t own a video camera because “I like to remember things my own way…Not necessarily the way they happened.” This sets up a wild and confusing journey through various explorations of identity and desire, but if we are to accept that this story is Fred’s, then perhaps we are merely seeing what he prefers to recall rather than what actually did occur. The difficulty is compounded by the fact that film is such a literal medium, which forces Lynch to employ numerous fade-ins and outs in order to keep the narrative flowing but also to prevent the viewer from becoming too established in the setting. For Lynch and his characters, uncomfortability allows the story to progress and eventually becomes the story.

Uncomfortability seems present from the beginning as it is made clear that Fred and his wife Renee (Patricia Arquette) occupy the same space as one another but as almost total strangers. Desire and control may be on their minds but love certainly is not. Through long, awkward shots and breaks in dialogue that go on with characters merely staring at one another, Lynch establishes a mood that lacks any real intimacy or connection. For Fred, at least, the desire to remedy this becomes a major motivational tool and makes up the first half hour of the movie. The turning point begins at a Hollywood Hills party (or at least what Lynch imagines these events to be like) where generic dance music plays in the background of aimless men and women leering, drinking and cavorting. As Fred watches Renee drunkenly hang onto another man, we sense that his (and our) understanding of reality is fracturing, leading to an encounter with a Mystery Man (Robert Blake) dressed all in black with ghoulish white makeup and no eyebrows. The look of this character may be less significant than what he does, but visually speaking is it possible that Lynch is signalling to us that this man is a mere construct of Fred’s subconscious? When he walks up to Fred, the background music fades away and a slow, pulsating ambience occupies the scene; Lynch frames each character in uncomfortable shots that do not afford any easy interpretation. As they talk, the feeling that this could be a hallucination of Fred’s becomes apparent, but Lynch denies us even this clue when Fred later points out the mystery man to someone who tells Fred he recognizes the man but doesn’t know his name. This encounter further puts Fred into a tailspin as he becomes increasingly unable to trust his own eyes and cognizance. Of course, since we are identifying with Fred we feel the same way, and Lynch increases this lack of comprehension when Fred and Renee return home that night and he cautiously enters his home after seeing lights flashing inside and walks down the corridor seen in the videotapes — when suddenly Lynch switches the camera’s point of view and we go from following Fred to watching him. Such a subtle but noticeable change is necessary in attempting to unpack this story, especially if one is to accept that nearly everything shown is in some way a figment of Fred’s subconscious.

Around the halfway point, Lost Highway takes a serious detour, although given that David Lynch is driving this should not be so surprising. To describe such a change would be unfair and counterintuitive to what Lynch is aiming for, but suffice it to say that a number of reviewers, both professional and amateur, have had field days sifting through the various clues supposedly laid out in the movie and interpreting their meaning. Various references to Twin Peaks prove to be an interesting anecdote, although their intentional weight is highly subjective. What seems to be most apparent is that Lost Highway captures Lynch at a pivotal moment in his career. After a gradual but consistent ascension to become the most successful popular surrealist in American movies, the commerical failure of Twin Peaks‘ second season, Fire Walk with Me and his little-remembered sitcom On the Air caused many, including Lynch himself, to question what his true intentions were. One possible understanding of Lost Highway, which comes five years after these career ‘missteps,’ is to see it as an artistic declaration of defiance. This is his most anti-commercial, surrealist and avant-garde picture since Eraserhead, and it is not a stretch to believe that Lynch was digging in his heels to ensure that if he had to follow the impulse to make another movie it would be one solely on his terms and damn the financial and commerical consequences. Viewing the movie this way opens it up to all kinds of understandings regarding the Mystery Man as a satanic view of the artistic muse or Patricia Arquette’s dual role as the two types of actors (and co-workers) Lynch has worked with and the seduction each one offers. Essentially, the personal understanding of this viewer can be best summarized in David Foster Wallace’s article for Premiere magazine written about Lynch and his work on the set of Lost Highway. Wallace wonders aloud if this movie would serve its presumed purpose to “rehabilitate Lynch’s reputation. For me, though, a more interesting question ended up being whether David Lynch really gives a shit about whether his reputation is rehabilitated or not.” Wallace comes to the conclusion that Lynch does not care and, with the advantage of hindsight, it is probably not shortsighted to say that he was right. Lost Highway‘s detour in its plot, style and tone took Lynch’s career on a very different pathway than where he was expected to go and it foreshadows Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire and Twin Peaks: The Return. No one can say that Lynch hasn’t continued to encounter speed bumps, but at least he has maintained control of the wheel. Wallace says it best: “the fact remains that Lynch has held fast to his own intensely personal vision and approach to filmmaking, and he has made significant sacrifices in order to do so.”