The baby scares me. This malformed mockery of human reproduction taps some primal ganglia in my cerebellum. It terrifies me on a very deep and personal level to watch the thing as it wails, spits the food it's been fed, gets sick, and lies there, wriggling. Without hyperbole, I will admit that the intensity of my abhorrence is such that I struggle to even continue watching this film, though it's a personal favorite. It is one of the best special effects ever put on film, utterly convincing from its appearance to its departure.

Put in such a state of fear and anxiety by this nightmarish creation, I, staunch atheist that I am, am relieved to hear the pleasing voice of the Lady in the Radiator assure me that, "in heaven everything is fine." What's more: I actually believe her. There are no atheists in a fox hole and no atheists staring at a sputtering, hideous demi-child.

Eraserhead scared me so much when I saw it in high school, I had trouble sleeping that night. It was the last movie to affect me in this way, the last to inspire fear of the dark. From this earlier viewing, I remember only the thrill of being so terrified and the thrill accompanying the click of previously underutilizied neurons firing with abandon. Thinking about Eraserhead helped me learn how to read films better than I had been trained to by my more mainstream viewing habits.

So many of the conversations I've had about this film have focused on the topic of "what does it mean?" This may have more to do with the company I keep, but I suspect this experience is not unique to myself. And, while it can be fun to try and suss out the meaning of Eraserhead through its symbolic imagery and all that, it's depressing to me that so many feel that the film needs to have any objective meaning outside of the viewer's own imagination. Even more befuddling is the anger I often hear expressed at this marvelous work, a reaction from those who feel they are having their leg pulled by some sort-of con man who's had the good luck to be recognized as an "artist" by the "establishment."

This isn't to say that not "getting" Eraserhead makes one a philistine. The film, like much of David Lynch's work, is asking for this hostility. After some confusing imagery at the beginning of the film, it settles into what seems to be a strange yet conventionally handled narrative. The movie has characters, establishing shots, dialogue, and the normal sort of narrative criss-cross in the editing. When the non-literal, confusing imagery from the beginning begins interfacing with all of this (relative) normalcy for reasons defined only in the creator's head, it feels arbitrary at times and even a touch malicious. And maybe it is. I don't know. I don't care.