David Lynch has this incredible ability to burn every single visual he creates so deeply into my brain. His artistic identity is so unique and scratches an itch that one may not realize has been a burden until you experience his work. Sometimes when you think back on a scene in one of his films, it feels the same as when you randomly remember a dream you had a week ago, and this is done in a lot of simple ways. His lens sometimes feels like that of a child who was exposed to dark truths and the only way he can express what he witnessed is with a camera.
Lynch is clearly very tapped into the human mind (as “Catching the Big Fish” makes clear) and his stories delve into dark realities — in a grounded way, as with Blue Velvet, and more surreal, like Fire Walk With Me. But he tackles these unpleasant subjects in a way that never forgets the beautiful auras we may feel consumed in at moments (even during largely upsetting times), as displayed by Isabella Rossellini performing “Blue Velvet” on stage in a scene with some of the most gorgeous lighting I’ve ever seen. These types of moments, like the “I’ve Told Every Little Star” scene in Mulholland Drive or the tape of Laura Palmer dancing with her best friend in Twin Peaks, can feel unrealistically romantic at times and remind you of the real-life possibility of feeling that way, both in the seemingly minor moments and the grander ones. Lynch paints with a brush that creates an abstract quality but he is fully conscious of emotional moments grounded in reality. (And, this is a bit of an aside but, on another retrospective level, it’s very interesting to see Lynch’s interests carry over across projects. There were certainly instances of using lights for effect in Eraserhead, but in Blue Velvet, we have blinking, buzzing lights and bulbs that blow out. It’s very inspiring how Lynch includes these shots, as he sometimes does so because he simply loves how they look.)
One small moment that stood out to me on this viewing of Blue Velvet was the unimposing dog-walker standing suspiciously still on the dark street when Kyle MacLachlan takes his nighttime stroll. It may immediately feel dreamlike but is also a bit true to life. Think about it: When you’re walking, there’s always that one guy you pass who just stares at you (or at least you think they are), consciously or unconsciously, making you anxious. The same goes for dialogue that’s sometimes delivered so offbeat that you feel it must be intentional — “Yes. That’s a human ear, alright.” Again, this is not unlike some real-life interactions. You never see movies include this; it’s something that’s lived but feels so insignificant in everyone’s broader memory, to the point where it’s rarely represented on film. Lynch has this mind that’s deeply interested in the small things in life. Some call his style "disturbing” or “weird,” and in some ways, this is as objective of an opinion as possible. But once you watch enough of Lynch’s work and listen to hours worth of him speaking in interviews, it becomes clear that his films are not only incredibly human but more realistic than what even they themselves may be aware of.
As ubiquitous as the images we see in Lynch’s films are, I could not imagine his visuals without the music of Angelo Badalamenti, whose scores can pull on heartstrings to an extent where you feel that you’re re-experiencing trauma that you never actually incurred, love that you’ve never actually experienced, and every other emotion in between. (When Bobby walks in to see the framed picture of Laura in Twin Peaks: The Return, you feel genuine sadness and longing, as if you went to high school with Laura, too). It’s become a bit of a joke that Twin Peaks reuses the same few songs over and over at every emotional beat but I’d be lying if it didn’t sweep me up every time I hear those chords, and this goes for the music in Blue Velvet as well. The opening credits of this film in front of a velvet drape are backed with a classic Hollywood-style score that immediately makes you nostalgic for a period you may have never even had a connection to before. There is something special about hearing more “traditional,” Golden-Age music in a more modern film like Blue Velvet. (It’s almost like you’re more certain that it was a direct, inspired choice made by the artists involved to set the mood.) Unlocking emotion in a way no other director can is a gift that Lynch uses so sincerely with every project he lays his hands on.
Blue Velvet’s subject matter makes you want to plug your ears and hide your eyes behind your hand at times, but you’re still peering through the cracks of your fingers just like MacLachlan hiding in Rossellini’s closet. Is it for sheer curiosity? The thrill of watching something extremely disturbing? The faith of seeing the characters you sympathize with possibly get footing? Whatever it may be, the nightmare of the world we’re in during nearly the whole runtime is enough to bring out a spectrum of emotions.
5/1/24
"Some call his style "disturbing” or “weird,” and in some ways, this is as objective of an opinion as possible. But... it becomes clear that his films are not only incredibly human but more realistic than what even they themselves may be aware of. "
Very valuable insight, leading us to conclude that Lynch's great achievement is to make the weird and disturbing become realistic, and to make the realistic become weird and disturbing.
Reminds me of something I heard the great surrealist artist Max Ernst say just this week: an artist must keep one eye closed to look to the interior, to dreams and fantasies, and one eye open to look at the real world in all its objectivity.