Lynch

Assembled by a mystery director who almost certainly isn’t David Lynch (maybe it’s daughter Jennifer of Boxing Helena infamy), this deeply undisciplined profile flaunts enviable access to Lynch’s L.A. compound and movie sets but little insight or probity. Trippy shifts from color to b&w—and various densities of shitty video grain—feel like a student’s approximation of the filmmaker’s recent style, while the subject himself is allowed to ramble endlessly in vaguely anecdotal interviews that have nothing to do with his visionary art or numerous passions. No American director has a process as weird or worthy of exploration as Lynch does; perhaps next time, he’ll allow a serious investigation into it.