David Lynch: An Imaginative Force to be Reckoned With

Second draft of the final assignment, final edit.

Convoluted plots, mysterious occurrences, sex and death in their most bizarre forms; these have featured in almost every David Lynch movie since the filmmaker began his career with 1966’s short film “Six Men Getting Sick.”

One would think that Lynch’s mind, responsible for imagining and filming scenes such as a part of a man’s brain being made into pencil erasers and the discovery of a rotting human ear in the middle of a field, would be as full of torment and torture as the scenes themselves. It’s quite the opposite, in fact; Laurence Tirard, in his book “Moviemakers’ Master Class,” described Lynch as “one of the plainest, warmest, and most charming directors [he’d] ever met.”

Even so, his movies are often shocking with their high level of bizarre content; they both challenge viewers to interpret their many oddities and entertain audiences with a level of imagination not seen in most Hollywood pictures. As Franz Kafka wrote in a letter to his friend, journalist Oscar Pollak, “I think we ought to read only the kind of books that bite and sting us. If the book we are reading doesn’t shake us awake like a blow to the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? […] A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.” This is what Lynch has accomplished, for the film medium. His films leave viewers with questions, to which Lynch refuses to give straightforward answers.

Lynch planned to become a painter, studying at the Corcoran School of Art in Washington, D.C. and attempting a trip to Europe that failed after 15 days. While studying at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, he was drawn into film. There, still intending to make a career as a visual artist, Lynch made the short animated film “Six Men Getting Sick,” in 1966. It was projected onto one of his sculptures “to make it look as though the painting was alive,” as he said in Tirard’s “Masterclass” book. From there, he received several awards that allowed him to create a few more short films and begin filming his first feature, “Eraserhead,” in 1971.

“Eraserhead,” finally released in 1977, is a deeply personal film for Lynch; he has referred to it as his “Philadelphia story.” He wrote, directed, and edited the stark black and white film. His experiences while working in the city contributed to the film’s making; he lived in a dangerous, unpleasant part of the city, next to a morgue, where he was robbed twice, had windows shot out, and a car stolen. The bleak atmosphere Lynch felt in Philadelphia is present in the dark, industrial ambiance of “Eraserhead,” the story of Henry Spencer (played by frequent Lynch collaborator Jack Nance) and his attempts to escape from his girlfriend Mary and their mutant, alien-like baby.

In presentation, it’s highly surrealistic, and it’s a great illustration of Lynch’s surrealistic tendencies, which have continued throughout his filmmaking career. In one scene, the “baby” has gotten sick and is covered in small black sores; it’s highly reminiscent of a scene in “Un chien andalou,” the famed short Surrealist film created by Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dali, where ants unexpectedly appear in hand of one of the characters. “Eraserhead,” a more experimental, art house film than any of Lynch’s others, thus allowed him to find his own personal voice, and making way for more avant-garde filmmakers to follow.

This film in particular exhibits Lynch’s surrealistic tendencies, and this style can be seen in all of his films, even more commercial, mainstream movies such as “The Elephant Man” and “The Straight Story.” For example, at the beginning of the former film, an elephant tramples the mother of the titular character, but this isn’t shown in a typical way. We see shots of her face with shots of the attacking elephant superimposed over it, blurred together in what feels like a nightmarish hallucination.

Though Lynch has a recognizable style of his own, utilizing – among other trademarks – dark, claustrophobic lighting and ominous soundtracks (nearly all composed by frequent collaborator Angelo Badalamenti) he is capable of directing films more accessible to mainstream viewers, though this isn’t something he often chooses to do. His feature films “Dune,” “The Elephant Man,” and, to an extent, “The Straight Story,” were told in a straightforward, chronological fashion. While “Dune” flopped, the two others were commercially successful.

Lynch’s signature is clearly present in these films, though they’re more conventional than most of his movies. For example, at the beginning of “The Elephant Man,” an elephant tramples the mother of the titular character, but this isn’t shown in a typical way. We see shots of her face with shots of the attacking elephant superimposed over it, blurred together in what feels like a nightmarish hallucination. “Dune” features a scene where the main character Paul Atreides must hold his hand in a box that subjects it to excruciating pain, which is notably difficult to watch.

The fact that these films are more straightforward Lynch films doesn’t mean they don’t challenge viewers to think. “Elephant Man” tells the story of John Merrick, a man with elephantitis who’s treated as a circus freak; it forces the audience to introspect. “The Straight Story” is completely different, but through Alvin Straight’s odyssey across America to make amends with his past – conducted by John Deere riding mower – doesn’t allow viewers to simply shut off their brains while watching. Even these so-called more typical films exhibit a level of creativity not found in the average Hollywood film.

In an age where movies are largely made for profit, not to tell a thought-provoking, entertaining story, the film industry needs more directors like David Lynch. Directors with the ability to create films that shock and surprise us, with meaning sometimes difficult to grasp, without easy answers.

After all, as Kafka wrote to Pollak, “If the book we are reading doesn’t shake us awake like a blow to the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? To make us happy […]? [B]ooks that make us happy we could, in a pinch, also write ourselves.” Lynch has given us, from his personal experiences, films that no other individual could – “beauties that pierce like swords or burn like cold iron,” in the words of C.S. Lewis.