Third time I see it, still don’t know WTF was that about. Still cool though.
This is not something like, a convoluted film that aims to confuse the viewer, but can eventually be pieced together. Not even , something that reveals its secrets backwards.
There’s not a special edition of this that will make everything make sense and reveal what was in the box, or who was the cowboy that harassed the director. Nor it will ever exist an explanation why Billy Ray Cyrus was cast in this.
We should think of this film (and all Lynch’s work, minus) as random walks through his mind, dumps of dream logic rendered as sequences of images. Nothing should ever make sense, each scene stands alone and the only connection to other scenes is purely circumstance.
This makes the meta-plot as valid to any (redundant) analysis. There’s no Watsonian vs. Doylist duality in his work, they are one and the same. Lynch is love. Lynch is life.