There’s a friend of mine by the name of Paul, and Paul is very fond of this character by the name of David Lynch. As I respect mine comrades, I will warn Paul now, should he be reading, that what this is, is why The Duke thinks David Lynch is a charlatan hack misogynist motherfucker. Just in case anyone gets the wrong idea.
Now, I don’t wish to tar any fans of Lynch with this same shite-drenched branch, so I will point out that Paul is incredibly intelligent, and has obviously some reason for liking the work of this individual.
The Duke, however, has many reasons for not liking it. Here is why.
There is a great misconception amongst the Filmic Affair Cognoscenti that this man Lynch is some kind of a genius, on account of he makes no damn sense. For The Duke, however, each review of Mullholland Avenue or Red Satin reads like the declarations of an audience gaping upon The Emperors New Clothes. They talk about how profound it all is, how meaningful, how cool those threads are. I, however, see only a big naked hairy arse. And it’s not even a very nice one, either.
Lynch is without doubt one of the most predictable filmmakers currently filmmaking. If there is a woman, she is either a lesbian or a whore, probably both, and the only way to deal with her is to give her a good seeing to with the fists. Sometimes this is passed off as “sexual deviancy”, when really, it amounts to little more than “My, aren’t females a bunch of fucked up bitches.”
If a midget arrives, it’s not because Lynch felt like offering starring roles to people who are often ignored on account of their disability, it’s because Lynch finds them freaky and funny and therefore uses them to signify evil and such. We look forward to his appropriation of disfigured children as other, possibly even more evil forms of evil in the future.
Oh wait, he already did that, way back in his first ever film, what went by the name of Eraserhead. The sad thing is, Eraserhead is actually one of very, very few Lynch films The Duke deems worthy of watching. See, Lynch’s daughter had to be given serious medical treatment when she was born, and was hooked up to any number of machines and such like. Via his never-ending chasm of humanity, Lynch recreated this in his debut as the mutant baby what eventually has to be killed on account of its freakishness.
The man just don’t like humans very much. Not one little bit. Maybe it’s cause we all thought Dune was shit. Who the hell knows?
But Duke, you cry, what about The Elephant Man?
Well, that would be the other film worth watching, on account of there being at least a smidgen of humanity in evidence. It is very, very possible, of course, that Davey just wanted to make a film about a bloke with a big freaky head.
The rule of Lynch is that if a film is in danger of being revealed as the laughable crud which is so evidently has become, then we take a big twist. These twists usually involve Kiefer Sutherland turning into Kyle McLaughlin, or all the characters forgetting that the bloke at the start killed someone all of a sudden, or a bloke waking up to discover that the whole film has changed, and it’s now a weird jazz-porn affair with Marilyn Manson.
This supposedly spontaneous unpredictability is, in fact, cripplingly predictable. As predictable, in fact, as all the lights starting to flicker when a baddie appears.
By the way, Saying… Something… Really… Really… Slowly… Doesn’t… Make… It… Any… More… Profound. David Lynch, however, believes quite the opposite. The slower a sentence can be uttered, the better, and hopefully by the time the full-stop arrives we’ve all forgotten what the hell the start of it was about and are therefore incapable of recognising the stench of bullshit.
To make a film like Blue Velvet, or Wild At Heart, Or Twin Peaks Part 2 – Walking On The Fire, all you need is a woman, a butch man (and one to replace with him come the half-time mark), a midget and some old records from the 60′s, preferably played really slowly, so as they take on evil, sinister undertones.
His films are lazy, dull, laughably pretentious and unutterably nasty, and they even try to pass it all off as being terribly ironic and tongue and cheek. To be fair, when the woman was beat shitless and had an orgasm over it all in Blue Velvet, that was some ironic shit right there. Jesus, I almost fell off my damn chair with the force of all the irony. Man, was my tongue ever in my cheek.
No doubt some one will say, But Duke, what about The Straight Story!
I will admit I have yet to see the film with the old fella on a lawnmower. But really, the words “A David Lynch Film” appearing onscreen tend to rob me of whatever enthusiasm I might have had hitherto, regarding the work in question.
But what the hell do I know? I’m just a motherfucker with no sense of irony. Those New Clothes are fucking gorgeous, by the way.
The Duke resides at Mondo Irlando
As a mark of respect for Blogcritics, I offer these links what go to Amazon, but honestly, I’d rather I didn’t have to hawk this motherfuckers wares.