The late writer David Foster Wallace defined the word “Lynchian” as referring to “a particular kind of irony where the very macabre and the very mundane combine in such a way as to reveal the former’s perpetual containment within the latter”. And this seems a pretty accurate description of my morning at Lynch’s house.
No, the door wasn’t answered by a backwards-talking dwarf; there was no severed ear on the lawn. And we are not here to talk about films, or the lack thereof. Lynch hasn’t directed a movie since 2006’s Inland Empire. A tricksy three-hour epic, it followed two other narratively challenging, dream-state movies, Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive. That triptych, bookending a career that began with 1977’s monochrome horror film Eraserhead, set the seal on Lynch’s reputation as a bafflingly obtuse, somewhat perverse film-maker. Having said that, he’s unfailingly polite, rarely swears, and is beloved by those who work for him. (On realising that Eraserhead might be a hit, he quickly had the cast and crew’s contracts rewritten so they’d get a share of the profits for as long as they lived.) In fact, film criticism aside, the harshest thing anybody has had to say about him was when ex-girlfriend Isabella Rossellini blamed their painful break-up on Lynch’s unreasonable hatred of “cooking smells” in the house.
Donate to IndiePulse Music Magazine’s Academic and Music Education Scholarship Program HeartBeat4Kids
IndiePulse Music Magazine creates Scholarships to help Youth In Need of assistance to complete their educational goals and stay in school.