Lynch is an artist of dark forces and creepy impulses, an aesthete of sleaze. A poet of nausea, voyeurism and sexual panic.
Nothing makes complete sense.
Yet everything seems inevitable. But they're curiously amoral, blank-faced. The effect is both unnerving and funny. Lynch likes to keep secrets and, out of respect, reviewers should try to keep most of his. As he joins Fred, he displays such insolent confidence and unspeakable amusement that we instantly suspect him as the videotape voyeur.