"Upstairs, Racquel Welch and some deaf-mutes want to give you a plaque."
The directorial debut of Matthew Wilder, writer of Paul Schrader's Dog Eat Dog, rides the same line that made that film feel so live-wire - it's ostentatious, ornate, writerly confidence that is only just clever enough to justify its style. Wilder's deliriously manic, barely-legal almost-biopic of Philip K Dick (or 'William J Frick' as Wilder's lawyers probably suggested) has shades of Naked Lunch, though its surrealism is more nakedly artificial.
Wilder shoots it all with some Scorshaky cam (a term I'm not very proud of) obviously but entertainingly aping the master at the service of his work. He doesn't juggle his disparate tones quite as well as Schrader later would with his work, partially because his formalism is nowhere near as wild as he thinks his writing is, but Your Name Here is nonetheless a delirious ride into conspiracy and bullshit. Well worth seeking out.