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