I took a bit of time after David Lynch’s death to think about my unexpected (to me) reaction. it should be noted that numerous family members and friends immediately thought of me when the news broke. So why was I surprised? I do not consider myself any kind of expert on David Lynch. And, if I am behind honest, I don’t even know if I would immediately think of him as one of my very favorites. By the way, who could be an expert in Lynch? I am not sure my brain was meant to handle that. But, as I alluded to, I was surprised to note my reaction to his passing. If you had asked me a few weeks ago for my future reaction, I would have given a stereotypical answer. “It’s very sad. It’s a loss for cinema. My heart goes out to people that are deeply connected to his work.” These are words that are true, but ultimately hollow. You could say them about any great film artist and they would be just as true. But that was a few weeks ago. After the actual event, things are starkly different. And so, as I write about the man, or rather my version of the man, please keep in mind that this is not an official obituary. Rather, it is meant to be a journey inside my own process. Luckily, we won’t have to lose an ear to go straight into the mind (if you know, you know).
So, on the day of his death, I found myself not only at a loss for words, but truly emotional as well. As I cried during my workday, this was a confusing experience, to say the least. And why why would I be this affected? I had the realization, through a text conversation with a friend, that Mr. Lynch is in a very select category for me. He is one of only a handful of directors that showed me what cinema was capable of. It does not have to be solely for entertainment. There is art. There is more. Despite its frustrations, it does not elude me that he refused to explain his work. It is for us. There is no use (for him) to put words to what he has already explained, in the language of cinema
My introduction to David Lynch was The Elephant Man. In many ways, it is not indicative of his work; it is certainly not “Lynchian,” whatever that means at this point. But it is, at its core, an empathetic story, which is, I believe, what calls me back to Lynch time after time. Sure, there is the makeup and the look at the titular Elephant Man. More importantly, it urges us to treat all humans as just that. As we are faced with a physical deformity, we are also faced with our own reactions. As John Merrick (John Hurt) yells “I AM NOT AN ELEPHANT! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! I AM… A HUMAN BEING! I… AM… A… MAN!” we are forced to ignore the external and look at ourselves.
But how odd to say that my first Lynch was a movie I watched in school on a rainy day. It doesn’t seem to fit, but there it also feels appropriate. What student did not love to see that television turn on instead of being forced to do busy work? There is a comfort. Comfort like a damn fine cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie.
Part of me wishes I could say that I was one of those that watched Twin Peaks from the beginning. But no, that was not my next Lynch. nor even the most important. I would come to Twin Peaks much later, and so will we. No, my next experience was perhaps the most powerful of them all. As a teenager, I watched Blue Velvet after renting it from my local video store. Why did I even pick this up? Maybe I had heard that it was great. Maybe I liked the cover. It certainly wasn’t because of Lynch himself, as the name was not known to me at that point. Throughout the runtime, I remember being deeply confused, but excited. There was something here, and it wasn’t just the shock value of it all. I won’t waste your time with the well trod discussion of the underbelly of the American small town. But I will say that after this watch, I found myself fundamentally different as a viewer. This film, as many of Lynch’s are, is strange. There is no specific time, there are no specific rules. I still find these choices to be brave and audacious, giving us nothing to lean on other than the visuals in front of us. I am sure that this is exactly how he would want it, and every time I rewatch it, I give in to that more and more. The other piece that I keep realizing I enjoy is the lack of irony in Lynch. Choosing light, love triumphing over evil, these seem to be very real to him. As the bird devours the beetle in the final frame of Blue Velvet, there can be no doubt that Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) made the right choice.
As I moved forward in watching his movies, there seems to be little rhyme or reason to the order, which simply feels right. Minus Twin Peaks, there is nothing episodic about his filmography. I am sure that somewhere in there I watched his version of Dune and was super annoyed (and annoying) about how poor it was compared to the book. It’s still not a movie I like, but it always seemed like the poorest fit possible for Lynch. Eraserhead deeply unnerved me on first (and subsequent) watch. It was like watching my own anxiety being birthed on screen. It is not a movie I will ever “like” despite being continually impressed.
Is there an odder pairing than Nicolas Cage and Lynch? Maybe not. But if there is a movie that shouldn’t work, but does, it is most definitely Wild At Heart. In speaking with other friends who despise it, I kind of get it. But I also couldn’t care less. Cage and Dern together are sparkling magic, Dafoe is disgusting and depraved. It is a film that feels dangerous, but also a film that Lynch is in complete control of. I have to think that these performances are at least partly due to the trust that Lynch engenders in his casts. Every word I have ever heard from folks who worked with him is glowing and positive. This was always a rarity and has become more so over the years. David Lynch just seems like a good human, which is probably why he is able to capture trauma (medical, sexual, emotional) through such a empathetic lens.
And what better way to examine trauma than through Twin Peaks? I am going to be honest with you here. It took me a few tries. Maybe it was because I didn’t watch it as it aired. Maybe it was because I saw clips of Fire Walk With Me on the internet. Whatever the reason, I left it behind. Until Season Three. Fine, I thought. I will give it one more chance. And what a revelation that ended up being. I took my time (seemed like a brutal show to binge) and found myself entranced. It is a beautiful exploration of trauma as well as an interesting look at producer interference. It became quite clear to me that the reason it first became part of the zeitgeist must have irked Lynch. We, as a culture, latch on to mystery. We need to know. But it always felt like that wasn’t what interested him. The life we lead, the effects we have, that is where the real exploration should begin. A death can be an end, but the ripples in the water keep traveling. This is one of the few times I could see Lynch going deeply internal and external regarding the nature of trauma. It is difficult to focus on pain and not be macabre, and Lynch mastered it with Twin Peaks.
One could go on and on about his greatness (and many should). Mulholland Drive is a masterpiece. Lost Highway and Inland Empire, confusing and galling as they are, have been written about endlessly, and for good reason. And if you want a, please excuse the pun, straight down the middle lovely little film, The Straight Story is right there waiting for you. And that does not begin to detail the many short films that are accessible.
There is no objective truth in what David Lynch movies are, or what they mean. I began this piece stating that I was not an expert on his films. It does not escape me that he would disagree. He would say that you have everything you need to understand, to process, to feel his work. And now I find myself nodding my head to that exact idea. We can sit around and read criticism about art all day. And frankly, sometimes I do. But this all pales in comparison to the feeling we get when a film breaks boundaries, even logical ones. I find myself feeling lucky that I found his movies when I did. Every time is the right time.
David Lynch, wherever he is now, changed me. I feel broader, larger, and more experienced just from playing the part of a viewer into his mind. Mr. Lynch’s films defy simple thoroughlines and descriptions. It is never neat and tidy. And it may be that this is a perfect reflection of the man himself. In interviews, he was always honest, but spoke about what he wanted to, regardless of what was actually asked. Even if this could be frustrating for the interviewer, I find myself glad that he expressed what he wanted and never bowed to what was expected.
I will mourn the fact that we will never get another David Lynch film. I will celebrate that every viewing of an older Lynch film is a different experience. I will be grateful to him for making me better through his art.
Rest in peace, Mr. Lynch. I hope you enjoy simple pleasures in the afterlife.
