Ty Landis’s review published on Letterboxd:
At a certain point, you come to the realization that it's a miracle that this thing even exists. Those left behind and those on the fast track to damnation, being in the driver's seat is hellacious and Lynch makes sure that we feel it, always inching one step closer to utter hell. Imagine this being in the hands of someone else, or something similar to this being released today; one can picture the unrelenting pain and sorrow on display, the obvious absence of grace that isn't lost on Lynch, breathtakingly intermingled with the everyday tragedy of physical, psychological, and emotional isolation. I know I don't have to say it at this point, but I will anyway: Sheryl Lee is devastatingly great here. Searching for signs, some guidance that there is something waiting for her after she's resigned to her own destruction and death. The empathy located in that and the feeling when it finally materializes at the last moment and in the last few frames is beyond reproach, something that truly defines that dirty little word -- "Lynchian" -- often thrown around carelessly and as a crutch, it's a term that comes to fruition not in the singular and "term papery" way the director evokes the surreal or the decomposition of suburbia and Americana, but the redemptive quality of love and hope in the darkest of spaces. We see a guardian angel as Laura sees it: the much desired saving grace that was deemed invisible and out of reach, finding a way to appear at last. Great final scene or greatest final scene?