Romance pokes through the violence and discord like a bloom through cracks in the pavement.
And then suddenly, the adrenalized thump of Powermad’s Slaughterhouse fades out and the lush strings of Richard Strauss overwhelm the soundtrack. As the two thrash along in the embankment – Sailor, with his karate-kick dancing style, seems like a terror in nightclubs – Lynch’s camera cranes upwards to a magic-hour sunset across the field. “Sailor Ripley, you get me some music on that radio this instant!” she screams, and he obliges, scanning past more talk-radio mayhem before landing, improbably, on a track by the Minneapolis speed metal band Powermad.
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