In an obscure, out of the way cinema, in an obscure, out of the way town, I stumbled across a comic gem the other day: a part-Polish production of a parody of David Lynch, complete with people dressed as animals moving slowly, people passing through borders into — into what? other worlds? the past? fiction? The hilarity was completed with such Lynchian trademarks as menacing music, manic laughter, quiet patches interrupted by sudden loud noises and, of course, extreme close-ups, turning the most banal faces into scary monsters. It was directed by David Lynch. Its name is Inland Empire.