That's in line with the movies themselves, from the director's nightmarish 1977 breakthrough "Eraserhead" through the creative heights of "Blue Velvet" and "Mulholland Dr." and the singular TV sensation of "Twin Peaks." Fueled by dream logic and the subterranean connections of abstract art, Lynch films don't explain themselves. It may be too much to expect a documentary to explain David Lynch.
Instead, this one captures him at random moments leading up to and surrounding the filming of "Empire." Shot in a baker's dozen of film stocks, digital styles, focal planes, and color schemes, the movie is visually arresting even when not much is going on. The director is filmed giving his regular website chat (he's shot from the floor behind his desk, the point of view of a faithful dog) and unpacking long, discursive stories in his staccato Idaho twang.
Lynch is an American original, at times a surrealist twin of Gary Cooper: rangy and confident, a cigarette forever dangling from his lips. The anecdotes he relates always have a dark undertow, like a description of his idyllic hometown that ends with an infestation of red ants. "I discovered that if one looks a little closer at this beautiful world, there are always red ants underneath," he remarks, which explains the opening of "Blue Velvet."
His personal life isn't explored, nor does Lynch go on record about his earlier work - the documentary is strictly in-the-moment. Ironically, "Lynch (one)" was filmed at a pivotal point in its subject's career. The filmmaker had given up celluloid to shoot "Inland Empire" in digital and was wrestling with a way to capture his visions more directly. "I'm excited by not knowing but tormented by not knowing," he says about his artistic process. "[Normally] before you start shooting, you've done all that not-knowing. But this is different: scene-by-scene not-knowing." Which explains the people in the bunny suits.
