One Crazy Mutha

A few nights ago, I went to a showing of Blue Velvet at the Belcourt Theater here in Nashville.  Wow.  I had seen it, in five minute increments, throughout my life but never in it’s entirety.  David Lynch is one freaky freaky man.  I have been having uncontrollable flashbacks for two days – mostly of Dennis Hopper’s bug eyes (“A love letter from me is a bullet from a gun!”) and Isabella Rosellini standing naked in the front yard of Kyle MacLachlan’s house.  The last two days have been weird – my sweet little life planting gardens and singing “This Old Man” intermingled with images from David Lynch’s psyche.  It’s been exhausting.

If you aren’t in the mood for Blue Velvet but still want to experience the brilliant filmmaking of Mr. Lynch, I highly recommend making a commitment to watching the entire collection of Twin Peaks.  By far, this has been the best program to ever grace cable television.  They sell the box set complete with the movie Fire Walk With Me.  It’s not Blue Velvet, but then, nothing is.