Looking back, most of the times I’ve been genuinely terrified by a film were because of Lynch: the witch in Mulholland Drive, Bob and Leland in Twin Peaks, Dennis Hopper with his oxygen mask in Blue Velvet.
I think it’s the dreamlike way David constructed his films. The heightened reality giving way to moments of striking terror.
While Wild at Heart isn’t my favorite of his, it’s still filled with those kinds of moments (and Nic Cage signing Elvis).
To…
I hate to say it, but I had a little trouble getting through this one—chalk it up to watching too much What We Do In the Shadows recently, that one scene in SpongeBob, and walking in knowing he looked like Dr. Robotnik (thanks a lot, Meredith).
I think it could’ve been shorter, and had a more interesting third act with more mayhem and unpredictability to the story. There is plenty that’s creepy (DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT), but for me, our villain, our raison d’être, NOSFERATU himself, isn’t particularly scary, and his dastardly plans and untimely demise resolve rather rotely.
I caught the beginning of The Invention of Lying about fifteen years ago on a trip to DC with the Boy Scouts—it has lingered in my memory as a fever dream, a half-baked premise with a stacked cast that falls absolutely flat.
Rarely is a film so deeply unfunny, particularly with so many funny people in it (excluding Ricky Gervais, of course). It gives Movie 43 a run for its money.
Filmed in Lowell, MA for some reason?
Mikey is an incorrigible lech, a down-on-his-luck huckster, a faded porn star who is always the victim and never responsible for his lot in life.
He haunts this technicolor Gulf Coast, scheming and schmoozing, a gadfly, a tick that refuses to let go.
In Texas City, it is already the end of the world. A petrochemical plant looms in the background, puffing out noxious air, blaring its warning sirens every night. Its residents seem almost resigned to their fate, smoking…
