ANTHONY Hopkins proves he has the mind of a young man with “Slipstream,” his first film as a writer-
director. Unfortunately, that young man is a first-year film student who keeps telling you how David Lynch has had, like, this totally pivotal influence on him.
Hopkins plays a screenwriter whose movie – which is being shot in the Nevada desert on one of those jukebox-America sets Lynch so often uses – is falling apart. At least one actor is (perhaps) dead – or it could be part of his imagination. Christian Slater, John Turturro, Camryn Manheim and the guy from the original “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” pop up randomly.
Cue flickering, madness-inducing images: Nixon saying “I am not a crook” Vietnam atrocities
mashed-up consciousness maniacal laughter sinister sunlight strange portents deja-voodoo murder tarantula loud noises screaming despair.
At 96 minutes, this vanity/insanity project runs a bit long; five minutes would have been plenty. People say things like, “Everything’s a movie,” “This is booooring,” “We’ve lost the plot” and “a dream within a dream.”
Tell a dream, lose a viewer.
Running time, 96 minutes. Rated R (profanity, violence). At the Empire, Eighth Avenue and 42nd Street.