David Lynch- My hero!

“Color me see through, and tickle my favorite inch, turn the ringer off and thank God for David Lynch…” – Buck 65 “BSc”

David Lynch is my hero. Deep down, I wish I could be him, or at least be like him. He makes his own movies and art, does his own thing, doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. His ‘work’ is his own distinct style that no one could copy without someone saying, “Wait a second, that’s very Lynch right there!”

Who is David Lynch? If you’ve never seen any of his movies, you’re missing out. If you’ve have and still don’t know who he is, I don’t know who is either. Deep down, who is this crazy genius? I don’t know.

He’s vague in interviews, doesn’t really reveal what his works mean. Shit he doesn’t do a ton of interviews in the first place.

He’s like the crazy kid in your third grade class who would eat glue, draw bloody pictures of kids getting their heads cut off, where nothing but black and no one talked to. He grew up and figured out how to get money to make motion pictures of those pictures he drew. Not that Lynch’s style is horror, or over the top bloodiness either. But the feeling you get while watching, the sinking feeling of uneasiness and confusion, is like those drawings.

His movies are completely utterly hard to explain. Trust me I’ve tried.

I had a film class in college at ASU where we had this enormous 30 page paper and presentation due at the end of the semester about a film, its meanings, its parables, and the importance of the movie.

I chose to do my project on the Lynch film Lost Highway; one of the most complex, intricate, moving films I have ever seen. I set out from the start of the semester to make this paper my greatest thing I accomplished in college (besides the time when I drank 190 shots of beer in 190 minutes).

The first time I saw Lost Highway with my ex girlfriend, I was scared shitless. More scared than the first time I saw ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’, when I was 9. Why? It wasn’t that it was some big hack’em slash’em picture, or that it was meant to be particularly scary. It was weird. I didn’t understand it. And because I didn’t understand it, that was more scary. Plus Robert Blake fucking freaked me out… still does.

That’s probably what drew me to it, the fear and the uncertainty. I was going to conquer this picture, even if it took me all semester. I started that first week, watching the film, taking extensive notes of each scene. By the time I sat down to write my paper and presentation, I knew the movie like I wrote it. I had all the dialog memorized. I could tell you when Fred Madison was going to play a certain note on his saxophone.

I walked into class armed with a stacked paper, a well-organized presentation and confidence in my subject. I was scheduled to go next to last, so I had to wait patiently as the losers in my class presented us with topics like “Jurassic Park- Political Allegory” and “Titanic- A Love Story”. I was a shoe in to rock these kids faces off with my potent and important musings.

My turn finally came, I got up and cleared my throat. “With a show of hands, how many of you have watched The Lost Highway?” No one raised their hands, not even my teacher. I then asked how many of them had heard of the Lost Highway.

“I have the soundtrack…” one kid said.

Great. I was going to have to explain this movie that I barely understand after watching it 150 times to a group that have no fucking idea what the lost highway is; let alone its various metaphors for hell, circular damnation and lust.

I started into my presentation. Minutes later, I noticed that the class looked confused, everyone’s eyes were glossed over, including my teacher.

My professor said, “Justin, just go ahead and sit down.”

Wow. How fucking rude!

I got an A on my paper and presentation, mainly because the prof could tell I spent a lot of time on it and he was so confused, he didn’t want to have to watch the movie to see if I was right.

I felt somewhat pissed that my brilliant points were wasted on such idiots. Probably the same way David Lynch feels whenever critics, studio execs and average assholes watch his films. Maybe not though, he’s probably completely happy that they don’t understand him. Man, I wish I could be like that!

David Lynch, my hero.