Written and directed by David Lynch. 1984.
I'm not sure the fabled four-hour cut of this would have made it that much better. In addition to a creepy kid and a line about milking a hairless cat with a mouse taped to its torso, Lynch concocts great visuals and wicked bad guys, but the good guys are all so vanilla. Delightfully homoerotic -- a bunch of men riding giant worms and a slicked-up Sting with a rubber palm leaf -- but there's no joy -- no coffee, no pie -- and the only tension is what you sense off camera: six months of Mexican heat and a heap of dead dogs.