There’s a public-access channel in Columbia that used to run locally produced movies late at night. For the most part, these movies made no sense whatsoever. And so, while I might watch a few minutes of them, I never watched one in its entirety.
Now imagine you have four or five channels. And they’re all showing public-access movies. And you’re flipping through all of your channels, hoping against hope that something that makes sense will come on your TV screen. Instead, you’re bombarded, in 20-second bursts, with:
a trio of well-dressed rabbits in a Beckett-esque play.
a crying, naked girl sitting on the edge of a bed, clutching a blanket and watching a static-filled TV screen.
a disturbing exchange taking place between two blurry-headed figures in a hotel room.
a couple of old men screaming at each other in a foreign language.
a crazed-looking woman running down the street.
Yesterday, Rockford brought home a copy of “Inland Empire” from the video store. And that frightful public-access scenario became my reality. I watched the first 15 minutes before I decided I’d had enough. It made me want to punch David Lynch in the face.
David Lynch has officially been inducted into Club Boycott.
Rockford was kind enough to turn the movie off, but he says he’s going to watch it tonight after I go to bed. You can expect to read his take on it soon.