Today we are going to dissect David Lynch- a dealer of dreams, a merchant of mysteries and moods, a fanciful gentleman with the great wave on his head, and above all, an artist who never shy away from showing hideousness of human nature. In this session, we will focus on integral organs of Lynchian body. This is going to be bloody, and when I say bloody, I mean it. If you are squeamish, I reckon you should stop right here, ‘cause I don’t want my room stinkin’ with your barf, that’s for sure.
In Manifesto of Surrealism, André Breton defined cinema as ‘Three cheers for darkened rooms!’ There is a dreamlike quality to cinema watching experience itself. When an adventurer enters the darkened room and encounters a series of flickering images that projects dazzling visions of life, surrounded by complete strangers, the experience of cinema can be equated with that of dream. What moviegoers seek from cinema is the experience of otherness. Movie watching is and will always be a mystical ritual that teeters on the edge of reality. This strange analogy between film viewing and dream state is the foundation of surrealist cinema.
The question is not whether I like Roma or not. The question is- am I even allowed to dislike it? How can I possibly say anything bad about Guillermo del Toro’s favorite film of all time? Moviegoers are under tremendous pressure to appreciate Roma.
There’s a lot of creativity at display here, but it’s in service of nothing. Just like zombies, it’s a hideous soulless entity that looks like a movie but isn’t one.