TV REVIEWS : Lynch’s ‘Hotel’ Creepy and Funny

David Lynch almost manages to do for overnight lodging in “Hotel Room,” his alternately creepy and funny new HBO series, what he did for apartment dwelling in “Eraserhead.” The title stopover is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to have a nervous breakdown there.

Tonight’s premiere (at 11 p.m.) is a three-part omnibus, with each half-hour episode set in the same New York hotel room--and with cameos by the same apparently ageless bellboy and maid--but spotlighting different principals in different decades. As you might expect with the talent involved, this is the “Grand Hotel” not quite so much of the twilight zone as of hell itself, definitely not for the tastes of typical travelers but a marvelously absorbing stay for the Lynch true-faithful, at least.

Actually, the comic middle episode is quite disparate from the unnerving other two and may prove quite accessible to mainstream viewers; it’s the one not directed by Lynch. “Getting Rid of Robert” is a hilariously inhumane look at the romantic bait-and-switch tactics of the beautiful people, scripted by official chronicler Jay McInerney, and directed by James Signorelli.

Deborah Unger--an unreasonably sexy character actress with a definite Bacall thing going, who stole last year’s otherwise useless “Whispers in the Dark”--stars in this truly vicious romantic comedy as a tart-tongued ingenue who invites two equally drop-dead femme friends to her room for consultation before dumping unctuous high-society boyfriend Griffin Dunne. Turns out one pal has had a fling with Dunne, the other is panting to, and he shows up with dumping plans of his own, natch.

The two Lynch episodes--both written by Barry Gifford (who penned the source novel for the director’s “Wild at Heart”)--are considerably more grueling, but rewarding in other ways.

“Tricks” has Glenne Headly as a ‘60s hooker who takes a regrettable detour to Room 63 with client Harry Dean Stanton, duly interrupted by weirdo Freddie Jones. If the story makes any sense at all, it may be as a meager “Raising Cain”-type conceit, but Headly’s stoned cheerleader routine is worth the price of admission.

The closing “Blackout” is the most off-putting here, but also the most remarkable piece of risky filmmaking. Crispin Glover--the normal one, for once!--plays a concerned ‘30s husband who’s brought his deranged wife, Alicia Witt, to the big city from Tulsa for mental treatment. Her slipping in and out of sanity could be played for quirky laughs, but Lynch--working in a super sloooow mode--actually makes their co-dependent passion poignant; though unsettling as ever, it may be the most moving work he’s ever done.

Many of Lynch’s house collaborators are on hand, notably composer Angelo Badalamenti, who provides some of the most powerful yet near-subliminal scoring you’re ever going to hear on TV--ominous in “Tricks,” jazzy in “Robert” and just on the cusp of mad transcendence in “Blackout.”

HBO won’t be ordering more episodes unless the premiere is a hit; that’s as likely as a Laura Palmer resuscitation, so catch it before checkout time.