So resonant, just thick with feeling. But none of this would work if Lynch wasn't totally innocent under the veil of all this violent and ugly carnage.

I initially slept on this one—so it seems has has most of the world, at least in relative terms among Lynch's other films. I liked it a lot first time around, but as of right now—this very moment—my reaction is that it's easily on equal parity with Lynch's other, absolute best work. Sooo unbelievably, dreamily evocative on the deepest (and wildest—title drop) emotional levels: Sherilyn Fenn's slow car-wreck death is one of the saddest things ever, the wordless mood of Wicked Game playing over the top of Sailor and Lula driving in the cool Texas night with the wind in their hair, the spinning silhouette of an unseen ceiling fan in a motel room, the smell of hanging cigarette smoke.

And so many exotic touches! The blue glittery dress of Koko Taylor, the match cut from the omitted gunshot to Harry Dean's head to the bright daytime Big Tuna sign, and man I miss 35mm because this is so magically grainy. I love how Lynch has gotten more obfuscated with style heading into Y2K but I do miss as well how he used to make real "movie-ish" movies, 2.35 anamorphic and all. I also forgot how scary this is (I'd love to see the extended Johnnie execution stuff, apparently it was too much and basically freaked out all the test audiences)

Ugh, Lynch loves Sailor and Lula and so do I. This is the best, man