[Nerdspresso] Farewell, David Lynch

In the Fall of 1990, I was a college student in London. I lived in a townhouse with other American co-eds, a short walk from the university in one direction and Trafalgar Square in the other. It was my first time being far away from home on my own.

During that semester, we had a series of petty thefts in the house. Cash and other items started disappearing from our rooms. We were a bunch of sheltered kids and these incidents rocked our world. We felt betrayed and violated. Plus, someone was snaking all our beer money. 

The cops questioned us and searched the house. We became very suspicious of each other, especially those peers who had hooked up at the nearby pub and brought strangers back to the house for covert sleepovers. It got tense and many of us weren’t mature enough to properly handle it. There were many anxious conversations with the local police. They even addressed our entire group with a lecture about public safety. 

We crammed into the cozy living room while this older detective chatted about locking our doors and not talking to strangers. After he was finished, he said that he had one last question. This guy looked like he’d just walked out of a BBC crime serial with his accent, thinning hair, tweed suit, and trench coat. We braced ourselves for a shocking revelation. The stocky, middle-aged cop looked us in the eye and inquired: “So do you know who killed Laura Palmer?” 

This was David Lynch’s superpower. He crafted work so perplexing that it stayed with you. It compelled you to discuss it. Twin Peaks had premiered in the U.S. the previous spring and had just made its way across the pond. Its eccentric style had gripped audiences all across the world. Our detective was so enthralled, he put his real-life investigation on hold to search for clues. David Lynch had ensnared us all in his web with this cryptic mystery.

The world lost an unforgettable cinematic voice recently when David Lynch died a few days shy of his 79th birthday. Love him or hate him, he was an undisputed talent. An unapologetic iconoclast, Lynch delighted in pulling back the curtain on “normal” American society and illuminating the strange beauty and unsavory desires lurking in the shadows. His bizarre visions are a fitting epitaph.

He seemed immune to critics and had no concern for the box office. This fearlessness made him beloved. We didn’t always understand David Lynch, but we always admired him. My first encounter with his work was 1984’s trippy adaption of Frank Herbert’s Dune. This movie was unlike any sci-fi blockbuster that I’d ever seen.

It was undeniably weird, but there was no denying that there was an auteur at the helm. Dune overflows with surreal dreamscapes and nightmare images. It also has Patrick Stewart fighting off invading hordes while holding a pug, and Sting parading around in little blue underpants. Those bits have lived rent-free in my brain for 40 years.

While Dune was my introduction to David Lynch, college was really when I was immersed in his canon. I was a creative writing major in a small liberal arts college and my fellow students were obsessed. In the early nineties, Lynch was the epitome of the avant garde. It felt like Blue Velvet movie posters were handed out during orientation. 

For the black garbed crowd that wrote for the literary magazine, smoked clove cigarettes, and drank their vodka with cranberry juice, Lynch was their messiah. I was more like their mascot. Any black I wore was a golf shirt with shorts and matching socks. Clove cigs made me gag and I was drinking Newcastle Brown Ale. there were as many Star Wars quotes dropped into the discussion as there was praise for Eraserhead‘s shocking metaphorical power. 

I was never a diehard Lynchian. To be honest, Blue Velvet kind of creeped me out. I was also a little flustered watching the sweet blind girl from Mask get all sexed up for Wild at Heart. His movies always made me a little uncomfortable, but they were never boring.

As my tastes matured, I grew to respect his unflinching artistic integrity. After getting pushed around by the studios on Dune, Lynch never made a big Hollywood movie again. He became famous for his esoteric visions on the big screen, but he also made documentaries and transformed television with his thought-provoking Twin Peaks.

He was an actor’s director, evoking acclaimed performances from Isabella Rossellini, Dennis Hopper, Laura Dern, John Hurt, Richard Farnsworth, Nicolas Cage, Naomi Watts, and his protege, Kyle MacLachlan. He also reminded us about the simple pleasures of tasty pie and a damn good cup of coffee. Lynch’s passion for creating transcended film.

He dabbled in music, photography, and painting. He invested all his work with his own fragile humanity and off-kilter sensibilities. The Elephant Man snagged Oscar noms for John Hurt’s heartbreaking performance and Lynch’s graceful and sensitive direction.

This story about a beautiful soul’s search for connection and acceptance transcends its shocking imagery. You look past John Merrick’s deformity and realize that he’s the most normal character in the entire film. 

Later in his career, Lynch made The Straight Story about an old farmer who drives his lawnmower across Iowa to visit his dying brother. This film contains no severed ears or no little blue underpants, just a heartwarming story about rediscovering life, love and making amends. It’s one of my dad’s favorite movies and he has no clue about the rest of Lynch’s filmography. Nor would he be too psyched about it if he did. 

The Straight Story proves Lynch’s genius was not rooted in the grotesque or unusual. He was simply brave enough to unleash thoughts and feelings trapped deep within all of us. My last cinematic memory of David Lynch is his delightful interpretation of legendary filmmaker John Ford in Steven Spielberg’s semi-autobiographical opus, The Fabelmans. He’s nearly unrecognizable with his signature coif hidden under a cap and wearing an eyepatch.   

Film nerds all got a surge when they realized it was Lynch playing Ford. It’s an expert needle-drop moment with an icon playing an icon. While sharing wisdom about shooting horizons with young Sammy Fabelman, Lynch steals the movie. His quirky energy can’t be contained and that’s his enduring legacy.

Here was a man worshipped by modern Hollywood who refused to play its games. He didn’t even watch a lot of movies.  Lynch‘s vision was always uniquely his own. Throughout his career, he continued to plumb the depths of his soul for his art. His work didn’t always make sense, but it was always true.

We will miss you, David Lynch. You were weird in the very best way. 

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