David Lynch is a filmmaker who needs no introduction. His work (from Blue Velvet to Twin Peaks) speaks for itself. This latest effort--written by Barry Gifford, the founder of landmark pulp publishers Black Lizard Books and the screenwriter of Lynch's previous effort Wild at Heart--may very well be his best to date.

Lost Highway is Lynch's most arid and least symbolic film. That isn't to say that Lynch has eschewed his trademark weirdness and puzzling imagery. And that isn't to imply that Lost Highway is markedly more comprehensible than Lynch's previous oeuvre. Trust me, there's plenty to ogle and lots to contemplate. But where, before, Lynch would go for a hundred bizarre images, here he pins it down to one or two. That alone gives Lost Highway a kind of narrative thrust that Lynch's previous work has never possessed.

In Lost Highway, Bill Pullman (doing a 180 degree mood swing from last summer's ID4) plays Fred Madison, a morose L.A. saxophone player married to vampy Patricia Arquette. All does not appear to be well in the Madison household. Is Renee Madison cheating on her husband? Is she hiding some dark secret from the past? You can tell something's going on by the creepy pall that hangs over everything like a jungle cat waiting to pounce. One day, packages start arriving on the doorstep of the Madison's chic hillside home. Inside each package is a videotape. Someone has been breaking into their house and taping the couple while they sleep. Why? These early scenes are imbued with a sense of horror I've rarely seen in film. In the unflinching eye of Lynch, everyday objects, (Manila envelopes, cellular phones, empty cabins) become sources of unimaginable, otherworldly dread. In Lynch's realm, the anticipation of horror becomes an almost excruciating exercise. What's going on in this creepy world?

All hell breaks loose when Fred runs into a bizarre ghost-faced stranger (Robert Blake) at a Hollywood party, and the two engage in what has got to be the scariest phone call in the history of cinema. I will now use three of my allotment on Robert Blake's character: Creepy, creepy, creepy. It's hard to imagine the former Little Rascal in this haunting role--buzz cut, shaved eyebrows and pancake-slathered mug. Who is this creepy figure? Is he the Devil? Is he Death? Is he a figment of Fred's imagination? Well, your guess is as good as mine, but for some reason he's stalking Fred and his wife with a camcorder.

About halfway through Lost Highway, a major shift occurs, and you know you're in prime Lynchian territory. After a while, it looks like Fred may or may not have gone nuts and hacked his lovely young wife into little pieces. He goes to jail for the crime and then ... well, he literally turns into somebody else. The protagonist role is now taken over by Pete Dayton (Balthazar Getty), a young mechanic who's rather foolishly involved with a gangster's moll (Arquette again). The most significant addition is now Robert Loggia as a hair-trigger dangerous gangster with some creepy secrets. And, lest we forget, Robert Blake's white-faced ghoul is still prowling the corridors of Lynchland. Pete's story has some creepy echoes of Fred's doomed tale. Characters and images repeat themselves. Are Fred and Pete the same person? Are they somehow mirror images of each other? Truth to tell, you could probably write a thesis on this film. Unfortunately, I don't have the space to do that here. You'll just have to see Lost Highway and puzzle the whole thing out for yourself.

I need to see this film about four or five more times before I can draw any firm conclusions. If you're looking for directions on this particular lost highway, though, I can give you a couple clues. Robert Loggia's character may be the most important. Robert Blake's character may not be as evil as he seems. And the most significant image is that of an unburning building. I think it gives you a good idea of how the narrative is actually running in this film

There you have it. And I only used creepy 10 times. ... Oh, damn. That's 11.