The Lynch Meditations -12

Wild at Heart is, for me, the flat-out goofiest and most willfully distasteful and tacky of all of Lynch's movies. If you would've asked me what my least favorite Lynch film was a year or two ago, Wild at Heart would be the bottom of the list. But not because I think it's a bad film. I just find it unpleasant to watch. But I admire its commitment to sheer bugfuckery. Yeah, that's it: I admire it even if I don't exactly enjoy it. This is Lynch getting as close to doing a John Waters film as he possibly can-not that anybody can actually do what John Waters does other than John Waters, but Lynch gives it a go.

So, let's see what I think of it now.

Well, not right now, not this exact moment. In this moment, as I type, I have the same opinion, basically.

I mean, after I watch it again.

So . . . let's see what I think about it . . . two hours and change into the future?

Yup. That's it . . .