Attribution: David_lynch.jpg: en:User:Urbankayaker derivative work: Gobonobo, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
By Geoff Carter
The world of cinema lost one of its giants recently. David Lynch, the visionary filmmaker who brought us disturbing and eclectic works ranging from the nightmarish Eraserhead to the beautifully lyrical The Elephant Man to the fever dream Mulholland Drive to the simmering evil of Blue Velvet and the erotic joyride Wild at Heart, passed away this week.
Much of Lynch’s examines the nasty underside lurking just beneath the glossy surfaces of our existence—the nightmare beneath the dream. Even the suburban paradise of Blue Velvet’s Lumberton was a fragile pastiche barely covering decay and evil underneath. His shots of the immaculate suburban lawns in Blue Velvet are interposed with a shot of ants feasting on a human ear just beneath those emerald blades of grass. The manners and civilized behaviors of the genteel upper class in The Elephant Man barely masks their squeamish pleasure of viewing a freak—whose own gentility surpasses that of those who make him a spectacle. Lynch’s ingenious use of the camera, color, and texture, and dream imagery defined him as not only a great filmmaker, but as a cultural icon.
Lynch’s work delved deep into the human psyche and burrowed underneath our assumptions about our society, ourselves, and our inherent goodness—and our capacity to lie to ourselves about these things—that his works resonate on levels deep within. He held up a mirror to us and showed us the Dorian Gray inside each of us.
Rest in Peace, David Lynch. And thank you.
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