David Lynch: the weirdo who made it in the mainstream
January 26th
•6 min read
Joshua Rothman commemorates David Lynch in the New Yorker:
When Lynch was fourteen, his family moved to Alexandria, Virginia. There, a friend named Toby Keeler mentioned in passing that his father was a painter. As soon as Lynch visited the studio, he knew that he wanted to live “the art life.” With a friend, Lynch rented a studio of his own and all but dropped out of high school to make dark, Expressionist paintings.
I've noticed a lot of great auteur filmmakers start out in more "primal" art mediums—painting, sculpting, etc. I think they're just people who are drawn toward aesthetic beauty and meaning like moths to a flame, and can't imagine living for anything else.
In 1964, Lynch went to art school—first at the Museum of Fine Arts, in Boston, and then at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, in Philadelphia. Boston left him uninspired; he preferred Philadelphia’s industrial wastelands and abundant lunatics. In Philly, his neighborhood was so dangerous that, when he went out, he carried a wooden stick studded with nails. An apartment he lived in was near a morgue, and Lynch met someone who worked there at a diner; the man offered him a tour, after which Lynch sat among the corpses.
Some places and experiences are just more inspiring.
Lynch’s ideas weren’t pictures on a mood board. They were experiences, which could only be realized cinematically, through combinations of performance, visual composition, music, sound, and an often dilatory use of time. Because the ideas went beyond language, it wasn’t easy for Lynch to explain them to collaborators; he developed strategies for helping them embrace his vagueness. Transcendental Meditation, which he began practicing in the seventies, had both a creative function—it helped Lynch regard his ideas nonjudgmentally—and a social one: it smoothed out his rough edges, lending him the aura of a benevolent guru. (“Your anger. Where did it go?” Reavey asked him, a few weeks after he began meditating.) Practitioners of T.M. chant individualized mantras; in “Reflections: An Oral History of Twin Peaks,” by Brad Dukes, the actress Wendy Robie recalls how, similarly, Lynch “would go to each actor in a scene and he would have a word for you, a private magical word, and it was yours to use.” Mädchen Amick recalls a moment when Lynch “put his hand on my arm, and looked at me, then he sighed and walked away, and it was as if he’d infused me with the emotion the scene called for.”
It's only weird if it doesn't work.
The world and our culture within it have become rational,” Karl Ove Knausgaard writes, in his novel “The Wolves of Eternity.” “We live and have lived now for a long time in an age governed by the paradigm of science, in which all that contradicts rational thought is gradually expelled.” Our rational impulses are so automatic, and so strong, that we’re now faced with the problem of what to do with the irrational. The way people lived for much of human history can seem alien to us...
In Knausgaard’s novel, which is set in a realistic, modern-day Norway, rationality is suspended when an actual miracle occurs: a new star appears in the night sky. People have visions, and see demons. Suddenly, anything seems possible, and experience replaces thought. The world can’t be analyzed or understood, but only lived through and intuitively explored.
Have you ever been seized by a sudden feeling of beauty and mystery in a way that can't be explained? And, in addition to the beauty and mystery, the aesthetics of the moment—the place or room you were in; the song that was playing; the weirdly specific thing you became fixated on—seem odd and disjointed to the point of feeling like you're in a dream? While most of us move on from these moments once the rapture passes—chalking it up to coincidence—it seems as if David Lynch built an entire career out of seeking these moments, writing down their every detail, and then using the medium of film to share them with the world.
If I had never seen any of Lynch's work, like Mulholland Drive or Twin Peaks, I would've never believed that this surrealist approach to film could work—there's just no way you could ever make anything watchable out of material that comes from such a deeply personal dream realm. Maybe you could get a couple hipsters to pretend to like it, but have it succeed in the mainstream? No way.
And yet, David Lynch thrived. I watched Blue Velvet a few days ago after hearing of his passing, as if to confirm once again that the Lynchian magic still holds up—yup. After roping me in with classic, pleasant Americana aesthetics, he once again had me confronting the weirdness and darkness that lurks inside us all—the kind that has no name nor language with which it can be spoken of.
David Foster Wallace was somewhat famously obsessed with David Lynch, and even gave him credit for helping him realize the difference between great and shitty avant-garde art. You can watch him discuss this here.
I agree with DFW that a lot of people who fancy themselves avante-garde-style artists—or postmodern artists, or experimentalists, or whatever term you like—are at the end of the day just hipsters making junk that no one is ever going to connect with because they're trying too hard, and are too in their own head about making something different. This self-consciousness causes them to lose track of the most important thing: precisely communicating that pure, unadulterated magic that was spawned from the surreal experience that gave them the creative spark in the first place. This is because this communication is where all the connection lies, no matter how strange the final product appears on the surface. Lynch was obsessed with this communication, and so dogged in being true to his visions that he couldn't help but be totally authentic and himself. This is exactly why despite all the weirdness and surreal elements, millions of people still "get it"—and feel seen in ways that no other films had made them feel seen before—when they watch his stuff.
I can think of no higher compliment for an artist. Lynch really did something new and fresh with the medium. I can't wait to rewatch more of his stuff. Rest in peace.