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Eyes Wide Shut 

David Lynch dreams the impossible dream with maximum overDrive

David Lynch's Mulholland Drive is like a jigsaw puzzle in which all the pieces are identically cut: You can arrange them any number of ways, and you probably still won't see the clear picture. Audacious, infuriating, and the sort of movie we've come to expect from one of America's most idiosyncratic filmmakers (clearly, 1999's lovely, G-rated The Straight Story is the odd film out on his resume), Mulholland Drive, like Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, Spielberg's A.I. Artificial Intelligence and Von Trier's Dancer In the Dark, is guaranteed to split viewers with all the precision of Moses parting the Red Sea. It's easy to see both sides of the argument: Lynch's visual and aural flourishes can often seem the filmic equivalent of being trapped in a closet with a screech owl, and the fact that many of his works appear to spin out of control offends the sensibilities of those who only enjoy narrative line drives. On the other hand, Lynch is a master at superbly self-contained set pieces ­ the sort of isolated moments of expression that lend themselves to incessant analysis ­ and in today's often complacent movie marketplace, his attempt to arouse viewers one way or the other shouldn't be dismissed out of hand.

Mulholland Drive actually began life as a boob tube candidate ­ specifically, it was a pilot Lynch shot for a proposed ABC series. Of course, once the network suits took a look at what Lynch had concocted (and perhaps mindful of the fact that their previous dalliance with Lynch, the superb Twin Peaks, petered out after a strong first season), they decided to pass on it, relegating it to TV's unseen phantom zone. With his eye now on a theatrical release, Lynch received backing from French financiers to shoot additional scenes to provide the pilot with a semblance of an ending. The result: a high-profile debut at Cannes, as well as the festival's Best Director prize for Lynch (shared with Joel Coen for The Man Who Wasn't There).

Armed with knowledge of the project's genesis, it's more apparent that Mulholland Drive is a melding of Lynch's two different mindsets. The first two-thirds or so play just like a multi-faceted prime-time drama (like Twin Peaks, or a very warped Dallas), with various characters and storylines appearing one after the other. Take, for instance, the two cops played by Jackie Brown's Robert Forster and A Simple Plan's Brent Briscoe. They appear in one early scene to offer Dragnet-dry comments about a car accident on Mulholland Drive. If this had indeed made it as a TV series, you could imagine these two guys appearing for a few minutes each episode, constantly staying one step behind whatever mystery needed to be solved or whichever villain needed to be apprehended. As it stands, they pop up for this one scene, never to resurface again (a shame, since Forster's screen appearances are always welcome).

While these two gumshoes may be insignificant to the plot, the car crash they're investigating proves to be one of the film's defining events, introducing us to a character we know only as Rita (Laura Elena Harring). It turns out Rita was involved in the auto accident; she's the only survivor, but the experience has left her with amnesia (hence the need for a fake name, which she takes from a poster for Rita Hayworth's Gilda). In a daze, she stumbles into an apartment building she believes to be empty. Instead, its current occupant is Betty Elms (Naomi Watts), a fresh-off-the-farm blonde who has traveled from Deep River, Ontario, to LA in the hopes of making it as a movie star. Temporarily shacking up in her aunt's vacant abode, the wholesome Betty allows this complete stranger to stay with her, eventually offering to help her solve the mysteries surrounding her lost identity, a wad of cash stashed in her purse, and a blue key that serves as the film's Hitchcock-inspired McGuffin.

In the other plotline of note, an aloof director named Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux) is getting set to cast the principal female role in his movie when he's informed by the picture's shady backers that he must cast a young actress named Cammie Rhodes in the part. After he balks, he's taken to a secret meeting with The Cowboy (Monty Montgomery), a pale figure who insists on the casting decision and states, "If you do good, you'll see me one more time; if you do bad, you'll see me two more times." (The Cowboy is arguably the creepiest character in a Lynch film since Dennis Hopper's psychotic Frank Booth in Blue Velvet.) It certainly isn't Adam's day ­ in addition to his celluloid woes, he finds out his wife is having an affair with a hunky handyman (played by, of all people, country singer Billy Ray Cyrus) ­ but the young moviemaker has an epiphany of sorts when, at the auditions, he spots Betty Elms, the fresh-off-the-farm blonde from Deep River, Ontario.

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  • On Saturday, Oct. 21, hundreds gathered at Camp North End on Statesville Avenue for Charlotte's first black alternative music festival. We captured some of the bands in action on stage, but mostly we surveyed the grounds as fans, families, vendors and more lounged around the sprawling, colorful Camp North End site. It was a great day of music, food, fun, and sweet, autumn sunshine. (Photos by Mark Kemp)
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