My poor brother. He had no idea what he was in for Christmas Day, 2006, when he asked to tag along with myself and two of our cousins to an early afternoon screening of the new David Lynch film, InlandEmpire, at Pasadena’s Laemmle Playhhouse. Only 18 at the time— a year and a half younger than me—I don’t know that he’d ever even seen a proper art film by that point, let alone a Lynch film.
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