David Lynch
David Lynch gives no fucks. That is the beautiful thing about (almost) all the directors on this list. None of them do. They make their art for the sake of making their art. Lynch and all these others do not care what you think of them. David Lynch does not have to justify the surreal insanity of his work. If you don’t understand an ending to his film (or heck, an entire movie) he will lose no sleep over that. He sets out to make the movies he wants to make, and makes them in a way that is true to himself. Quick side note: Dear David, make another movie soon. Please?
But we can all agree his work is like a surrealist painter, splashing blood on a canvas so the red is more believable. A David Lynch movie is like being fed drugs intravenously (and without consent) and then watching small pockets of the world end. Vignettes that get under your skin and you can never shake.
So take just one moment to imagine what it must be like inside his head? It must be like a puzzle in there, carved out of human bones and backward speak.