Yesterday, I told my father that David Lynch had passed and he did not recognize the name. I wasn’t surprised. In the realm of filmmakers possibly known to the public, Lynch was the most eclectic and specific, the most known of a select few oddballs who plied their trade at the elite levels of films and television. A singular voice that birthed a generation of acolytes and admirers, if never equals, Lynch churned out a body of work unsurpassed in its specificity or influence, beginning with the brutalizing brilliance of “Eraserhead (1977)”. As a complete artist in its truest form, Lynch forged an idiosyncratic path built on the foundation of his experience as an Eagle Scout, and an unquenchable desire to learn, grow, and expand his perception of existence. A lifelong advocate for the creative utilization of transcendental meditation, the beatific grace of Bob’s Big Boy, and the intoxicating aroma of half-smoked cigarettes, Lynch hand-crafted his days around the pursuit of creation for its own purpose, whether that pursuit be a fine table, a hit TV show about a young woman’s murder, or a film about a man driving a lawn mower down the highway to visit his dying brother.
“Lynchian” was a term coined to articulate Lynch’s unique form of expression. Dozens of books have been written, and undoubtedly, even more will be written still, that dive into the themes of Lynch’s work, which danced, sometimes backward, within the razor-thin line between perversity and good taste. His characters were more often than not thrust into, or willing participants within, acts of unspeakable cruelty hidden behind the thinnest veneer of societal normality. The opening sequence of “Blue Velvet (1986)” displays these warring instincts better than most, as a fine Summer day on a fine suburban street is disrupted by a man having a heart attack on his lawn, only for the audience to be plunged into the pristine green grass to find it overflowing with crawling, skittering insects of all unholy shapes and sizes.
Many contemporary critics of Lynch’s early work took him as cynical, but to do so would be willfully ignorant. It is quite possible that David Lynch was the least cynical and most earnest artist of his generation, with a genuine love for the simple pleasures of American life that included an unflinching ability to see the corrosion just below the floorboards. He was able to visualize scenes of the most haunting variety that left their rot smudged against one’s soul like the guts of a freshly swatted mosquito on sweaty skin. His depictions of evil are shorthand for its banality and savagery amongst humankind (Dennis Hopper’s Frank or Bob from “Twin Peaks (1990 – 1991)”) and his vision of man’s futility against the unimaginable horrors of the universe belie clean or clear definition (The Leper from “Mulholland Drive (2001)” and The Woodsman from “Twin Peaks: The Return (2017)”. But, while Lynch saw the cancer of violence and degradation plaguing the human heart, he also saw its grace in the unnameable power of empathy and the belief that a life spent asking questions holds far more meaning than any answer.
There is a scene often passed around film circles that has been getting particular play since the news of Lynch’s passing dropped. It is from “Twin Peaks: The Return”, Lynch’s 18-episode, long-heralded homecoming to the red-cloaked rooms and tall Douglas Firs of the show that made him as close to a household name as possible in the early ‘90s. Lynch is featured in this scene as his FBI agent from the original series, Gordon Cole, so named for a character from one of Lynch’s favorite films, the eternal “Sunset Boulevard”. In the scene, Lynch is speaking with another returning character from the original series, FBI Agent and now FBI Chief of Staff Denise Bryson, a trans woman played then and now by David Duchovny (“The X-Files”). During the scene, Cole describes the trials Denise undertook when she transitioned in the early 1990s, facing direct vitriol and mockery from her fellow agents at the Bureau. In Cole’s words, his response to his underlings and their cruel persecution of Denise was to “Fix your Hearts or Die!”. This phrase, shouted by the hard-of-hearing Cole, feels as important now as ever and has cemented its place in Lynch’s legacy, a legacy not just as one of the greatest American artists but as one of our most profound chroniclers of virtue and kindness in the face of overwhelming evil in all it’s familiar and seductive forms. His peers were luminaries. His equals were non-existent. There will never be another Lynch. Nor do I believe the world could sustain one.
Back to the question my father asked me. Who was David Lynch? In short, or as short as possible, he was the kind of artist who births artists. He leaves in the wake of his too-short 78 years a thousand times a thousand strong of painters, philosophers, musicians, filmmakers, carpenters, weirdos, and baristas, all following in the example of a wiry-haired man with a crippling addiction to Cheetos and nicotine. Lynch was not a star that directly guided my own path, either artistically or cinematically. But his loss feels seismic. Any star lost from the clear night sky removes light from the face of the deep, unfathomable night. That light’s existence, dim for some and blinding for others, has been a comfort and solace for most of our lives. Now that he is gone, the world is lesser for it. But like all stars, their deaths do not diminish their light. They shine on beyond our lifetimes, much like the greatest of art, so we mere mortals can bask in their glimmer and ever wish upon their eternal example.
This week, to honor his passing, the Prytania Theater Uptown is showcasing a pair of Lynch’s masterpieces: “Blue Velvet” and “Mulholland Drive.” Each considered one of the finest films of their respective centuries, these projects bookend Lynch’s most prolific period of work and are the greatest primer for diving into his more challenging, but no less rewarding, pursuits, such as “Inland Empire” (2006) or “Lost Highway” (1997). For those who have never heard of Lynch beyond a succinct dalliance with “Twin Peaks” in the ‘90s, might I offer my highest recommendation to engage with his work and let the questions he’s asking consume you without seeking easy, cookie-cutter answers. “Keep your eye on the donut, not the hole,” Lynch once said. What does that mean? Meditate on it a while and see what you come up with, maybe over a cup of black coffee and a piece of cherry pie.
You’ll be glad you did.
“Blue Velvet” and “Mulholland Drive” are playing for ONE NIGHT ONLY at the Prytania Uptown on Jan. 22.