Let's be honest here: the only reason anyone bought this, the only reason anyone reviewed this, and the only reason anyone could possibly claim to enjoy this is because David Lynch made it and because you want to have David Lynch's children. But guess what? Even David Lynch can produce a piece of crap.

Maybe Lynch wanted you to transcend normality and experience absurdity in-itself as a pure subject-of-knowing. Maybe the atrocious, cacophonist sounds, and chicken-scratch visuals are supposed to imply something about humanity's place in the world, about our relation to the Real, about the absurdity of it all.

Instead, it just says one thing to me: I just lost $20.

If I wanted offensive for the sake of offensive, I could crank Hansen on high and let me ears bleed. If I wanted absurd for the sake of absurd, I could just take a dump on a plate and watch that for 33 minutes.

There is a single redeeming quality to Dumbland -- it is meta, meta funny. That is, it is so bad that it isn't even funny because it's so bad. This fact, however, is a little funny.

If you hate yourself and hate your money, then buy Dumbland. If not, spare yourself the agony.
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(I).