Ray Pride

Dino De Laurentiis stayed true to his word: after the conflagration of "Dune," he allowed David Lynch to make one of his most personal projects: not the epic study of midgets, electricity and the inner life of the mind, "Ronnie Rocket," but "Blue Velvet" (1986). Kept to a modest budget, Lynch had final cut and used it well, in a story that could be described as a meeting of The Hardy Boys and Luis Bunuel in the North Carolina outback. At first sight, "Blue Velvet," perverse, misogynist cauchemar that it is, seemed to bear the conviction of a dark, if faux-naïf "vision." "Your disease is inside me, Jeffrey," spoken by a full-length nude, bruised Isabella Rossellini to Kyle MacLachlan seemed a genuinely disturbing invention, not a calculated commercial gross-out, which the later "Wild at Heart" and "Fire Walk With Me" proved to be. "Blue Velvet" seemed like the pre-Freudian post-pop fever dream of an idiot savant. It also marked Lynch's first collaboration with Angelo Badalamenti on a hypnotic score, silken night photography by Frederick Elmes, and its costars include the late, ineffable Jack Lynch ("Eraserhead"), the cozily epicene Dean Stockwell ("Here's to your fuck... Frank."), Dennis Hopper, Brad Dourif and Hope Lange. Panavision. 120m. 35mm. It's being shown with Lynch's short, "The Alphabet."

"Blue Velvet" shows Friday at 8 at the Block Museum of Art (847)491-4900, 40 Arts Circle Drive, Evanston.

(2003-04-22)

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Tip of the Week
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