Inland Empire

Director: David Lynch
Screenwriter: David Lynch
Starring: Laura Dern, Jeremy Irons, Justin Theroux, Harry Dean Stanton
Running time: 180 mins
Certificate: TBC

Viewing Inland Empire feels like flitting between the interweaving worlds of a distressing nightmare and a beautiful dream. Trying to piece together what the hell is going on in both David Lynch films and the dark recesses of the human subconscious tends to offer no definitive answers. That's not the point though, for the impact is one of feeling, not thinking. You experience the film as opposed to merely watching it. Inland Empire is pure, visceral cinema at its finest.

Appropriately beginning with the jarring scratches of a stylus on vinyl, the 180-minute film is governed by a foreboding sense of dread and a terrifying soundscape. The audience is taken out of their comfort zone. Too often cinemagoers are subjected to uniform 'cause and effect' narratives that propel the plot from A to B and leave your mouth munching on the popcorn whilst your brain can have a kip. Not here.

Although much of the film is so fragmented that it defies any attempt to describe a plot, we do often share perspectives with the characters played by the masterful Laura Dern, whether they be an aspiring actress or a battered, screwdriver-wielding housewife. Or are they all the same?

Regardless, Dern's performance is so utterly compelling, especially when filmed in scenes of raw, emotional distress under the tight framing of Lynch's lens. Her dread at what lies round the corner or through the looking glass often mirrors our own feelings. But before we come too close, Lynch twists both characters and linearity around to lead us further into his intricate maze.

The main identifiable narrative strand features the casting of an actress (Dern) in a film directed by Kingsley Stewart (Jeremy Irons) and her relationship with leading man Devon (Justin Theroux). It comes to light that a previous attempt to film the script resulted in the brutal murder of the two leads, with the project believed to have been cursed. Other strands involve an Eastern European circus troupe, sinister prostitutes and a sobbing young lady watching people with rabbit heads talking in a living room on her television. Thankfully, there's no attempt at plot resolution along the lines of 'oh, so he was dead all along!' (Cue tedious flashback sequence - yes, we're glaring at you Mr M. Night Shyamalan.)

Laura Dern joins Sheryl 'Laura Palmer' Lee from Twin Peaks and Naomi Watts from Mulholland Drive as a classic Lynch heroine - with bright smiles and hope giving way to screams and depravity. Recurrent Lynchian imagery plays a key role in bridging the gap between the various ‘realities’ (or unrealities) within the film. Red curtains, mysterious ringing telephones, trees blowing in the wind and various numerical or alphabetical sequences are scattered throughout.

Lynch's macabre sense of humour is also intact, often taking us by surprise. As a key character seemingly lies dying of a brutal stab wound in front of three homeless people, their conversation turns to defecating monkeys and bus routes. Then there's a bizarre song and dance sequence that ensures you'll never view 'The Locomotion' in quite the same light again.

Trying to solve the mystery of the film is a real fun, interactive element – albeit ultimately futile in all probability. It helps that we live in a multimedia age and this deserves to extend your interest in the film long after you've sauntered off down the aisle. As with Mulholland Drive, your perceptions can be enhanced and illuminated by finding out how others interpret the sights and sounds they've experienced. Track down the relevant message boards, post your theories, your interpretations and pick up on other clues that may have passed you by. Then watch Inland Empire again.

So then, you may ask, what does this film all mean? It is whatever you want it to be. David Lynch's obsessive fascination is in your imagination…