
Mourning David Lynch in a City on Fire
Exiting through the lobby, you couldnât miss a familiar, heartening post-screening buzz: sounds of laughter and exasperation; hesitant, hazardous attempts at analysis; confused variations on âWhat was that all about?â We could have just seen âEraserheadâ or âBlue Velvet,â or stumbled out of âMulholland Drive,â as some friends and I did, not too far away, more than two decades earlier.
















