David Lynch passed away on 15th January.
I saw his Dune when I was 11 or 12, so I’ve been aware of his work most of my life. I probably first saw Blue Velvet in my teens, and found it weird and intriguing and messed up, but felt it was probably too old for me. When I saw The Elephant Man, I probably didn’t even realise that was a David Lynch film.
And I remember watching Twin Peaks when it first aired on TV, but again I felt it was a bit old for me. I think it was when I came to watch it many years later that I really fell in love with all things David Lynch, to the point where he was probably my favourite filmmaker. No one else was as weird and imaginative and twisted. And yet, gentle and kind.
This, more than anything, was what I (and doubtless many others) loved about his world. His villains were truly terrifying, but his heroes had a goodness and a kindness and an empathy that felt not only heartfelt but realistic. And my memory of that moment in movie and TV culture, no one else seemed to be interested in exploring the idea of Goodness.
Perhaps my favourite film of his is The Straight Story, and this scene perfectly catches the aesthetic I grew to love.
In fact, it was only after he died that I realised so many of the components of my own artistic aesthetic I ‘borrowed’ wholesale from David Lynch.
But at some point in the 2010s I started to lose interest in his films. I hated Inland Empire, which I felt was overlong and incoherent, even though it had some great ideas. Had it been a series of 15 minute episodes, I might have loved it, but it wasn’t.
And also, my attention started to move to the films of Hayao Miyazaki, who seemed to be interested in many of the same things but took them in other directions.
But there was something else.
Lynch had a knack for twisted erotica. No mainstream Hollywood director (and he was a mainstream Hollywood director) could do dark and sexy like he could.
But as the 90s love of pulp fiction met the #MeToo movement, films like Blue Velvet, Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive started to feel exploitative to me. Was he just another male director playing with his beautiful actress sex dolls? There was something faintly Weinstein about the tone of those films.
Well, it was heartening to learn after he died that both Isabella Rossini and Patricia Arquette were on record talking about how he created a collaborative, supportive and consensual work environment.
And I would love to leave it there.
But the recent revelations about Neil Gaiman give me pause.
I stumbled onto this voice interview of Lynch, talking about his favourite film by one of his favourite directors: Stanley Kubrick’s Lolita.
Many years ago I might have said “That’s an overreaction, surely. Kubrick is an iconic filmmaker and Lolita is one of his most celebrated films. It’s possible to greatly appreciate the film without condoning the behaviour of its protagonist!” (Which his grooming a minor, let’s be clear.)
These days, however, I find it’s more useful to trust my instincts. And something about the way he talks about Humbert Humbert just feels… off, in a way I can’t quite articulate.
I hope he didn’t have any dark secrets. I hope he was more Agent Cooper than Frank.
I don’t know. I’ve learnt to give up on all my heroes, one by one. But not the beauty they produce. Kindness is kindness and empathy is empathy, even if it’s authors, like the rest of us, aren’t always perfect at maintaining that.
And he was really good at empathy.
For me, this is all of his traits wrapped up in one scene. Despite the world finally realising the kind and gentle soul he is, Joseph Merrick decides he will finally sleep “like a normal person”—knowing that, with his condition, this will kill him.
“The sky is sure full of stars tonight.”