Love him or Lynch him, Hollywood's resident mad genius David Lynch is back with Mulholland Drive, a strange new movie about the movie business.

Populated with the usual bizarre, cryptic characters he seems to find so fascinating, Lynch's overlong arthouse effort is fresh from the festival circuit, where it made its debut in Cannes before playing in other major centres such as last month's truncated Toronto filmfest.
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Few filmmakers play cinematic mind games with as much abandon as David Lynch.

Lynch's Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks and Lost Highway are all twisted, nightmarish visions of worlds real and surreal that intersect for sometimes apparent reasons, but more often for no reason other than Lynch's obvious delight in toying with his audiences.
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