It’s a story of two competing narratives that seem to take place in separate universes. When Dorothy first discovers Jeffrey in her cupboard, she nicks his cheek with a kitchen knife, but the next morning, his face is as smooth as ever. Another night, Frank beats him up viciously, but his bruises fade with miraculous speed. In a sense, he is a substitute for anyone who goes to the cinema. Films allow us, like Jeffrey, to visit a twisted demi-monde of sex and violence and moody music for a couple of dark hours, before returning unscathed to ordinary life.

Postmodern games

Blue Velvet invites countless other interpretations, of course: that’s why viewers are drawn back to it, again and again. But what’s undeniable is that Lynch isn’t telling a straight story (to borrow the title of one of his later films); he is switching between different genres and different tones, reminding us constantly that we are watching a work of fiction.