A lot of people were mad at WaH back in the day, waaaay out of proportion to any offence its artless dumbness should have inspired, which tipped me off to the real reason for the foaming at the mouth; all surrealist drag aside, Lynch (praise be upon him) was bitchslapping us with too much holistic, discomforting authenticity and that shit catches in a lot of perceptual windpipes. Wild at Heart is the feral, airless passion, the witless devotion and the trip to the clinic afterwards. They don't make them like that any more.
Laura Dern was so great as Lula and never gets any credit for what was a fantastically instinctive performance- brittle, unfortified, slutty and stainless, the like of which we almost never see in these dry times with all the meta-meta bullshit and watchful posing that latterly passes for performance. Dern extruded Lula from her own darn flesh. You need to stand in front of a mirror and try it yourself in order to truly appreciate her achievement.
Twenty five years. Wild at Heart stomps that time down into an arm's length, so that it just seems like the distance between you and the overloaded ashtray into which you flicked your Camel, back when you still smoked. It reminds me to fuck and to be fucked, to embrace intoxication in all its many forms, and that my beard-scissors hairdo is a symbol of my individuality and my belief in personal freedom.