I just wanted to pop on here and say something that's been eating at me since I watched this movie last night:

The Machinist is the kind of movie that David Lynch would make if David Lynch actually knew how to write a movie instead of a string of unrelated creepy encounters. I actually got really pissed off about halfway through the movie because I could taste the Lynch in the air. Too much crap happening with no explanation. To many odd coincidences that didn't really actually coincide with anything once you thought about them for long enough. To much self-referential crap that didn't reference anything except a reference you noticed earlier.

Then, BAM! The writer actually wrote an ending! That's right, when it was all said and done, it all made sense. You hear that David Lynch, you fucking hack? I could have a monkey write a 200 page script that is nothing but weird shit happening over and over if it never had to be tied together.

Now, this isn't to rag on people who like David Lynch. That would be like blaming the victim in a rape. Over a lifetime of conditioning by authors the likes of Kafka and Dahl, we have somehow been led to believe that if there are enough creepy non-sequiturs in a story then it's automatically good. No. It's not. It's a bunch of bullshit.

In conclusion, The Machinist is a pretty damn good movie and David Lynch is pretty good at pissing me off by making me wait for a resolution that I know will never come. But the lesbian action in Mulholland Drive was pretty awesome.