Eraserhead (1977)

A remarkable exercise in discomfort, not just in its ooze (see opening the diaper to a shitload–been there, man), nightmares (see the titular one), and depressing settings (is that a pile of dirt on his bedside table?), but in the way it unfLynchingly amplifies the awkward gaps (walks home, elevator doors, and conversations are all terribly slow) and back-breaking straws (see Mary getting her suitcase) of life. The bizarre symbolism, meanwhile, like the head of a pencil, leaves lots to chew on.

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