NOW ON TUBI! You can still find the strangest wonders along the lost highway, as shown by the superior surreal thriller Blackest Darkness, directed by Aaron Dunlap. Written by producer Michael D. Acosta, the story opens with a man (Aaron Dunlap) driving through the night in the middle of nowhere. He has an egg salad sandwich, which he hates, at a truck stop, where his waitress (Jessica Blaustein) offers to tug him off for 20 dollars.
While waiting for her in the parking lot, he runs into a creepy fellow dressed as a clown (Michael D. Acosta). The man explains he is trying to get back home for the birthday of his wife Diane (Jessica Blaustein); he just needs to get that hand job from the waitress first. The clown cackles sinisterly and gives him the 20 dollars to give the waitress. Things go miserably, with the man being discovered in his car by Tony (Anthony G. Marshall) and Lou (Carl J. Grasso), who asks him if he is the drill man. When the man answers in the affirmative, they throw him in a car and take him to the small town’s only bank, closed for the night.

“When the drill bits keep breaking, a talking cockroach lets the drill man know exactly what needs to be done to penetrate further…”
They take him into the back, where there is a concrete wall with a giant X on it and a huge drill. A sleazy character (Jessica Blaustein) in a bodysuit informs him to start drilling, as the boss (Larry E. Evans) has them on a schedule. When the drill bits keep breaking, a talking cockroach lets the drill man know exactly what needs to be done to penetrate further…
Blackest Darkness is one of the most accomplished homages to the art of David Lynch seen yet. And why shouldn’t they? Lynch is currently the greatest cinematic stylist we have, having claimed the mantle from Hitchcock before him. Just like the previous generation of filmmakers admired and paid tribute to Hitchcock, the current generation recognizes the power of Lynch’s radical techniques. The best reason to utilize Lynch’s methods is that they are so unspeakably effective on the viewer.