"To know death, you have to fuck life in the galbladder."

Abaolute style.

I re-watch this film regularly. He is literally me navigating this clown world.

Lynch is a hack and I'm tired of pretending he is not.

Every time I watch one of his movies I think to myself that this time I'll see something new and different, gain a wider understanding of film. I do not. It's always just random dream sequences. There is nothing there.

This is a knockoff Tim Burton flick. There is nothing to get. There is no depth. Stop fellating yourselves through praising this man. Get a grip, he's the Nicholas Cage of directors. Duchamp wannabe.

1/2 star for the artistic flare and props in describing the anxiety and oddness of parenthood.