Goes without saying that David Lynch is a pioneer amongst the unique macabre voices who’ve risen up through cinematic history. He wields a deft hand at creating three dimensional characters who seem to be the spawn of shadows rejects. Rarely does someone in his world exhibit remorse, play the love card with pure intent or search for hope in some capacity. But somehow he woo’s us into his morbid narratives with the curiosity of a highway collision with body parts, blood and oil strewn about. Not sure what I gained from this but apparently love in all it’s contorted wisdom and emotional highs brings out the ugly in people apart of Lynch’s world.

After watching this I had terrible vision of Lynch as a priest going in to perform an exorcism but instead of the demon writhing about in anger spewing it’s venom as soon as the demon laid eyes on Lynch they fist bumped “Hey what’s up brother” and went for a beer. And that’s “Hotter than Georgia Asphalt”.

My score might not reflect my utter disdain for the material but from the performances (Nicolas Cage and Laura Dern have never been better, And Willem Dafoe gives one of the three or four best of his career) to the direction (It’s like watching the inmates run the nuthouse, only a bonafide crazy man could get that kind of buy in) to the technical craftsmanship I can’t deny it has pluses.