The latest from writer-director David Lynch is ideal for those who thought his Mulholland Drive was too simple and straightforward; it defies synopsis as it weaves in circles around a Hollywood movie set (with Jeremy Irons directing Laura Dern and Justin Theroux), moving into the film-within-the-film, sidestepping to a second cast of mysterious Polish characters, and to three people in rabbit costumes on a theater stage before an unseen guffawing audience. As always, Lynch has a knack for striking absurdist images, moody atmosphere and a pervasive sense of almost subliminal dread. But he seems to be on a quest to see how long he can stretch out a movie while making absolutely no sense; after three hours, this one sets the Who-the-Hell-Do-You-Think-You-Are Alarm blaring away like an air-raid siren.
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