David Lynch has done it again. He’s made a fantastically amazing film which defies any sort of conventional narrative logic, something which will be inaccessible to most moviegoers. However, for those of us willing to lend Mr. Lynch our heads for three hours (yes, it is a mighty long film) there is something frighteningly beautiful to be found, a treasure of immeasurable value. For those of you who’ve seen Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire will seem very familiar, from the filmmaking subject-matter to the disparate identities/roles played by the same actors.

As usual, Lynch’s sound design is amazing, a sonic droning which washes over you and pulls you into the screen like a powerful undertow. The images Lynch presents us in Inland Empire likewise produce an emotional resonance; like poetry they invoke intense reactions by tapping into some ineffable primitive part of the brain, a part of the brain outside the realm of rational thought and reasoning. As I sat through Inland Empire, I began to feel as if I was dreaming with my eyes open – this film more than any other I’ve seen before has accurately captured the dream experience. And, as is the case with dreams, it provoked supernatural sensations of fear and wonderment, anxiety and curiosity.

While many will complain that Lynch’s style is nonsensical drivel, for those of us who’ve developed a taste for avante-garde viewing there is unprecedented richness here which can’t be denied. While we tend to be conditioned by Hollywood and mainstream cinema to find pleasure in a well-crafted narrative, such a limiting approach to film neglects the medium’s true potential for artistic expression. As always, that wacky transcendental meditator, David Lynch, requires us to suspend our ordinary viewing habits and step into his brain – a much darker, more disturbing locale than most people are accustomed to. If you can appreciate the bizarre and disturbingly beautiful, if you are a fan of experimental filmmaking, you need to see this movie.