The painter of nightmares. David Lynch spent his career — from 1977 to 2006 — making films that exist nowhere else in cinema — works that operate according to their own internal logic, somewhere between waking life and the most vivid and disturbing dreams. Beginning with the industrial nightmare of Eraserhead and ending with the quiet devastation of Inland Empire, his filmography is one of the great sustained acts of personal vision in American art. Lynch was interested in what lies beneath the surface of ordinary life — the violence, the desire, the strangeness that polite society keeps hidden just out of sight. His films rarely explain themselves, and they are not supposed to. They are meant to be felt before they are understood, and in many cases they resist understanding entirely. That resistance is the point.
A cocktail of fantasy and real life, wrapped in a rotting Hollywood vibe. Lynch has masterfully portrayed the reality of a fantasy — the workings of our brains, human motivation, and the particular way that obsession rewrites everything around it.
Lynch undiluted — just not his most rewarding. A clean, linear good-versus-evil story told with all of Lynch's visual instincts fully intact. The use of colour is one of the film's genuine pleasures.