'Wild At Heart And Weird On Top': RIP David Lynch

David Lynch in "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me"

Today, I learned of the death of David Lynch, a singular artist who I’d count among the few who I can honestly say have changed the way I looked at the world and viewed art.

When I was young, I considered myself a “Twin Peaks” fan and will never forget the amount of discomfort I underwent seeing “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me” on my 15^th birthday with my parents (who are about as open-minded as parents can be and do not easily squirm at movies).

In my teens, I was blown away by “Blue Velvet” and, in my first year of college, was mesmerized so much by “Lost Highway” that I went to see it multiple times, each time bringing along a new convert to be perplexed and freaked out by it.

When I moved to Los Angeles, I’ll never forget seeing “Mulholland Drive,” arguably the best film of the 21st century, at The Regent Showcase Cinema Palace. This was another that involved multiple screenings. When I lived in New York City, I was crazy enough to sit through “Inland Empire” for two back-to-back screenings. My open-minded folks, while visiting, attended a third screening of that film with me.

In 2017, “Twin Peaks: The Return” was a TV show experience like no other. Upon watching the much-vaunted Episode 8, I wondered how Lynch ever convinced a television network to air what must be the most avant-garde hour of TV ever made. I wrote a long piece about “The Return” here.

I’d always hoped that Lynch’s “Unrecorded Night,” a TV show he announced prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, would finally be realized. Alas, it will never be seen, much like other mythical never-to-be-realized Lynch projects, such as “Ronnie Rocket.”

It’s difficult to sum up Lynch’s work, other than to use the obvious words: nightmarish, surreal, dream-like, absurdist. Another word that best describes his work is intuitive. By this, I mean that what occurs in his films from frame to frame is less the mechanics of plotting, but rather what feels like should happen next. Another way to describe his style is that it operates on dream logic.

Sure enough, Lynch once described how he came up with the sinister, otherworldly Red Room from “Twin Peaks”: He leaned against a hot car and the image came to his mind. He then found a way to insert it into the series. Many of his films, he often noted, included imagery from his dreams.

However, Lynch notably did not like to discuss his films. His responses in interviews to what they mean have been intentionally vague and bland. The DVDs of his films often don’t even have chapter titles. Critic J. Hoberman does a lovely job of summing up Lynch’s life and work in The New York Times.

So, needless to say, Lynch is one of my favorite filmmakers. And it is undeniable that he is among the most unique ever to pick up a camera. He was also an avid painter and contributed wonderfully atmospheric music to some of his films (when composer Angelo Badalamenti wasn’t the one doing it).

“The world is wild at heart and weird on top,” says one character to another in the director’s 1990 Palm d'Or winner, “Wild at Heart.” That’s a great way to describe Lynch’s work in general – and the way that he enabled those of us who love his work to see the world.