Lost Highway

Forget about vampires, zombies and the undead, this is true horror.

Lynch brings the movie’s febrile and violent artifice to life in visual compositions of a poised, painterly authority and interrupts them with quick bursts of hallucinatory frenzy.

It's pensive male anxiety, and for some cultural reason it's easier for audiences to accept female hysteria than the insecurities of men.

[Lynch] knows how to put effective images on the screen, and how to use a soundtrack to create mood, but at the end of the film, our hand closes on empty air.

Evil flows like an invisible current through Lost Highway, one of Lynch’s feel-bad best.

Lynch refuses to commit to any clear theme beyond the standard misogynist noir trope that women who have sexual autonomy are evil and maybe deserve to be murdered.

Lynch's surreal masterpiece is infused with film noir conventions and characters, real world ties to true crime, and a fantastic dual performance by Patricia Arquette. Rarely has inky blackness ever looked so simultaneously romantic and terrifying.

It’s a metaphysical mystery that defies literal explanation yet has a weird and haunting emotional and thematic logic to it, like a dream or a nightmare.