There was no better movie this decade to get lost in — with or without controlled substances — than David Lynch's dark, dazzling mood piece about an amnesiac (Laura Harring) and a wanna-be actress (Naomi Watts) who link up to solve a murder in the city of bruised angels. Smart viewers didn't worry about negotiating the plot. They just surrendered to his film's visionary daring and swooning eroticism. OK, some just got off seeing Watts and Harring rub titties. But as identities shifted and the world was thrown out of balance, Lynch cemented his rep as a cinema poet. You can still discover a lot about yourself watching Mulholland Drive. It grips you like a dream that won't let go.