It’s like if Singing in the Rain, Guy Debord, Buster Keaton and Ebenezer Howard all had an orgy.

A remarkable film with remarkable performances, the stark black and white photography, with occasional forays off into the Lynchian dream world we by now expect, work so well with the otherwise grounded reality we see depicted. Of course in retrospect the themes and setting (an industrial, dirty, uncaring, London) seem a perfect match for Lynch now I have seen it, however this grounded setting always made it somehow feel less important to watch in the grand scheme of his output.…