If you met him in person, David Lynch came across as a Midwestern pastor, all gee-whiz and aw-shucks. He was one of the few people who seemed wholly incapable of irony and, hearing him talk, you’d think the man must have enjoyed a pretty darn nice Montana childhood.

Searching the Tribune’s photo archive for a picture from “Eraserhead,” the 1977 David Lynch film that concluded one phase of my moviegoing life in the late ’70s and cracked open a second, bigger one,