Finally, I got to see Mulholland Drive. David Lynch is a very interesting person, who makes very interesting movies. What's possibly most interesting about them is the reaction they engender in audiences.

"What the fuck was that about, then?" seemed to be the general consensus.

There was also a healthy helping of: "Oh, I get it, she's schizophrenic, right?" (Why is it that the usual reaction to anything two steps away from the mundane is to assume schizophrenia?)

Plus, my personal favourite: "Well, see, it makes so much more sense if you think of the first half as a dream." (Well, yes, it does, but it also takes all of the subtly, nuance and intricacy out of it. In fact, it completely eviscerates the movie. But, by all means...)

I considered telling people that they shouldn't watch David Lynch movies with their brain.

Instead I said: "Well, he doesn't tell synoptic, narrative stories. He explores thematic images."

Which, as Jen said, just sounds like a wank.

I enjoyed it. Once it got going.