From the outset, just after the wondrously poetic opening credits, he seems to misstep.
"Wild at Heart," though, is lacking in the dreamlike irrevocability of his most brilliant work. There's an ineffable potency and danger in them - they carry vibrations from the lizard realm - and, watching his films, we can be simultaneously repulsed and enthralled. His images are projections straight from the bogs of the unconscious, and they make it onto the screen raw and undiluted, dripping wet. But "Wild at Heart" isn't the David Lynch movie that anyone could have hoped for - not his new fans, who've discovered him through "Twin Peaks," or his older ones.Īt his best - in "Eraserhead," "Blue Velvet" and the pilot for "Twin Peaks" - Lynch achieves a fragile, almost godlike tone, where comedy and tragedy bleed together, and irony and passionate, obsessive sincerity are mixed in precisely equal portions. It's swampy and destabilizing in that subversive, perversely original, signature Lynchian way. David Lynch's "Wild at Heart" is unlike anything that's ever been made before.
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