In what seems the far-distant past of 2018, the critic Dennis Lim wrote that “the primal terror of Lynch’s films is an existential one, stemming from the ever-present possibility of things falling apart—the daily state of affairs, in other words, of Trump’s America.” But then things really did fall apart, and that destabilizing, anything-can-happen feeling at the foundation of Lynch’s pictures became right for a time of mutating lethal virus strains, QAnon cult conspiracies, bomb cyclones, Rudy Giuliani’s dripping temples, and sports teams cheered on by the piped-in reactions of cardboard-cutout fans. In the course of the past year, the world of David Lynch—which has never made logical sense—made perfect 2020 sense.
Mestre Zen (do cinema)
Postado por Rodolfo S. Filho às 00:27
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