****

           Out of the David Lynch triple bill (also featuring Eraserhead and Mulholland Drive) I had the lowest expectations for Lost Highway. At first I was pleasantly surprised.

            The first half hour or so was probably one of the most genuinely unsettling I’ve seen. Typically Lynchian and focusing on the type of silent, oppressive psychological terror usually found in Japanese horror movies, all factors present conspire together to seduce the viewer into a heavy, voluptuous sort of fear: the stylish minimalist house, the smoky rooms, the smouldering tensions between husband and wife, the grainy black and white shots produced as a mysterious stranger sweeps a camera around their home. All sound clichéd, and yet in this they remain – if not original – utterly involving.

            The story concerns a jazz saxophonist, Fred, and his distrust concerning with his wife, Renee. Mysterious unmarked videotapes begin arriving at their door – displaying footage of inside their house -- and this part of the story is brought to a climax when Fred murders his wife and is imprisoned. In his jail cell one morning, however, the guards discover Fred has somehow changed places with a young, bruised mechanic called Pete. While the film hints at what happened that evening, it is never really explained, and the story focuses on Pete’s relationship with Alice (a femme fatale played by the same actress that plays Renee) until Fred is introduced once more in a confused climax.

            The first section, as I mentioned, is completely compelling and dripping dark style, and the mechanic’s story too commands attention… especially in the quaint little scenes, such as that where a bad driver is threatened with guns while his attacker spouts road accident figures. When the tales begin to gel and fold into one another, however, the story spins completely out of control. Unlike Mulholland Drive (in which the surprise twist and random interjections can be understood – at least to a certain extent – with enough thought and analysis) there seems no method to the madness of Lost Highway. The links between the two stories (Pete complains of the radio playing the same sax improv Fred played at the beginning; the identical first and final lines of dialogue etc) at first seem intriguing, but eventually just become tiresome and almost gimmicky. Because really, what’s the point?

            In my mind, a major flaw of this movie lay in the sheer number of sex scenes. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with erotica, and many (such as the first) served a purpose and further contributed to the moody atmosphere of the film. However, I can’t help but feel that the oppressive sexual jealousy present throughout would have been better conveyed with a “less is more” attitude concerning Patricia Arquette. While I doubt I’m echoing the thoughts of the majority of heterosexual males, many viewers (like myself) will be sick of the sight of her breasts by the time the movie reaches its denouement, and so will find it difficult to empathise with the characters so obsessed by her.

            Lost Highway could have been great… as it is, it gets bogged down in its own stylishness and entangled in numerous connecting coincidences to the extent where literally no explanation makes sense. Although salvaged by various powerful cinematic images, a haunting soundtrack and a smouldering noir-ish atmosphere, the main emotion I felt when the credits rolled was sheer exasperation.

***

Virtually everyone I’ve asked (with the exception of Holdo J) refuses to watch Cherry Falls.

Why? Because, in taking the piss of standard horror movies (more so than Scream but not to the extent of Scary Movie), it creates something unbelievably trashy and considered by some (ie, Alice) to be unwatchable.

The plot is standard teen horror gunk with a tongue-in-cheek twist. The high-school students of a small town are being systematically murdered, but it soon emerges that the killer is targeting virgins. The heroine is the cute but edgy Brittany Murphy (a virgin) while other characters include her worried sheriff father, her frustrated (but very yummy) boyfriend Kenny, a stereotypically anal headmaster, her sensitive English teacher and (unsurprisingly) loads of horny teens. It pans out pretty much exactly how you’d expect it to, though I have to admit I was surprised when the killer was revealed.

The problems with the movie? Three major ones.

First off, the murderer isn’t scary. In the slightest. In the beginning the killer is mostly shrouded in darkness, with only a foot, a hand, or their car visible: a technique used so often it’s barely effective here. Then when the actual figure is eventually revealed he/she resembles some straggly-haired eighties Goth throwback clad entirely in PVC, wielding a really pathetic looking knife. Granted, the use of masks has been pretty much exhausted in horror movies, but they could’ve created a mildly terrifying character without one.

As it is the killer’s more funny than scary, although it’s worth mentioning that that could be their intention…

Secondly, there’s the censorship. While I don’t know exactly what was cut out, the general consensus among critics is that the film loses some edginess in the edit, and I can see how that is. Some parts of the film move too fast, and other slower ones could benefit from an injection of the black humour that crops up in other parts.

And then there’s the ending. Oh dear… it’s only here that the film takes a final leap into the truly ridiculous. Virtually everything is crammed into the backstory that emerges here (rape, child abuse, cross-dressing etc., all crudely portrayed, of course) and the movie ends predictably with a slashfest at a big teen party. While mildly amusing, the ending is in no way scary, for all pretence is dropped and the idiot slasher running about at the end is mostly just annoying.

Despite all these faults, I reckon Cherry Falls is worth a peek.

Part of what makes it a decent watch are those trashy wee touches of politically incorrect humour, like the cynical blonde teaching the others about sex (“What about vaginal or clitoral orgasms?” “Unless you’re talking about masturbation, forget it”) and the idiot boys who welcome the killing spree as an opportunity to get laid.

Brittany Murphy returns to the wide-eyed innocent role she pulled off so well in Clueless, doing the same here but with an edginess that further adds to the movie’s darkly humourous tone.

Cherry Falls acknowledges it’s cruddiness with a wry, self-deprecating humour, and is a decent way to spend a few hours. While not exactly a great “horror movie,” it has a few decent scares, and is enough of a black comedy to maintain interest… at least until the beginning of the end.

Personally, I’d choose it over Scary Movie any day.