Three seemingly dissimilar works are united by three seemingly diffuse concepts that all lead back to the same place: the unique capacity of film to evoke some of the mind’s most indescribable sensations.
Like the absurdists, David Lynch brings us to the void to remind us it’s there—and to invite us to laugh into it.
Had the lives of George Lucas and David Lynch gone differently, we would be awash in a stranger, more inexplicable type of American movie.
My brother and his wife returned from the haunted house. It had been named something ridiculous like The Retribution or The Reaping. I had stayed home with the baby, watching a program that explored the possibilities of a prehistoric New York City. The baby liked the part where Mastodons marched...