There are weird movies. There are surreal movies. And then there is Naked Lunch, a movie that makes you wonder whether the filmmakers were on drugs, whether you should be on drugs to understand it, or whether the entire point is that nobody should be expected to understand it.

I saw it in one of those movie theaters that specializes in quirky films that have been out for a while. Two dollars. TWO DOLLARS. At that price, I figured, how bad could it be?

Oh, Mimi. Famous last words.

Directed by David Cronenberg and loosely based on William S. Burroughs’ novel, Naked Lunch follows Bill Lee, an exterminator who discovers that his bug powder has recreational properties, accidentally kills his wife during a bizarre William Tell game, and descends into a hallucinatory nightmare involving a fictional North African city, drug conspiracies, espionage, and a typewriter that turns into a talking insect.

Because apparently, a regular typewriter just wasn’t weird enough.

The entire movie is surreal. Not oh, that’s an interesting artistic choice surreal. More like I would like to speak to whoever thought this made sense surreal.

I may even have fallen asleep at some point. I’m not entirely sure. Which, frankly, creates a unique cinematic experience when you wake up halfway through a scene involving giant bugs, talking furniture, or something else that makes you question whether you are still watching the movie or having a fever dream of your own.

And the thing is, I wasn’t necessarily bored. I was bewildered. There is a difference. Boredom makes you check your watch. Bewilderment makes you wonder whether checking your watch will reveal that time itself has stopped working.

As a psychologist, I could probably spend hours analyzing the themes of addiction, paranoia, repression, and the disintegration of reality. As a person who paid two dollars to sit in a dark theater, however, I mostly wanted to know what on earth was happening.

Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps the movie was a brilliant exploration of the unconscious, the creative process, and the fragile boundary between reality and delusion. Or perhaps it was simply a reminder that not every movie needs to be understood, enjoyed, or recommended to friends.

Sometimes, you just have to experience the bizarre and move on.

I paid two dollars for *lNaked Lunch. That’s less than a cup of coffee, and arguably a much more mind-altering experience.

Would I watch it again? I’m not sure. I might have already watched parts of it twice, depending on whether you count the bits I slept through.

But I can confidently say this. If someone asks me about the weirdest movie I’ve ever seen, I have an answer.

And if they ask me what it was about?

Well, that’s between them, the talking insect, and my therapist.