When the news of David Lynch’s death spread out to the masses Wednesday afternoon, the outpouring of support was immense. It fit Lynch perfectly, matching the impact he has had on both modern cinema and the people he interacted with on the daily. Lynch’s frequent collaborators — Kyle MachLachlan, Laura Dern, etc. — shared tributes to him, mixing with the masses of regular people who posted their interactions and love for him on social media.
Lynch’s filmography, laden with surrealism, symbolism and allegory, will likely inspire filmmakers for decades to come. However, understanding the idea of being “Lynchian” and what that truly means in the wake of Lynch’s death is more important now than ever.
The most acclaimed and popular films Lynch is credited with creating revolve around themes of corruption and sinister internal working of seemingly innocent exteriors. “Blue Velvet,” Lynch’s 1986 crime thriller, takes what would usually just be a carbon copy cop movie and adds into it a level of spine-chilling evil from its central characters in a way not done before. The nostalgic recreations of ‘80s suburban life, with its frightening underbelly of crime and sex lurking around every corner lays the foundation for what are frequent motifs in his work.
“Twin Peaks,” perhaps Lynch’s best known work, is most akin to “Blue Velvet.” The show, which ran from 1990-91, follows several interwoven plots all of which are tied in some way to the mysterious death and oft-abused life of teenager sweetheart Laura Palmer. Palmer, similar to the characters in “Blue Velvet,” is a vision of prom queen perfection, yet has an unknown life of drugs and illegal activity tying her to the most successful men in her Pacific Northwest town.
Frequently, “Blue Velvet” and “Twin Peaks” incorporate motifs of Lynch’s own life growing up in the 1950s. The ‘50s were a decade characterized by suburban expansion and a post- World War II boom, with important figures such as President Dwight Eisenhower rising to prominence. Lynch’s films and shows are embedded with the spirit of this time, taking the optimism of the era and pushing it until it hits nauseating extremes of excess, greed and consumption.
Because of his frequent references to the bygone era of Marilyn Monroe and his obvious love for a simpler time marred by extreme racism, Lynch is frequently labeled conservative. It is true Lynch expressed love for Ronald Reagan, and he did walk back comments seemingly praising Donald Trump in 2018. (Lynch also rarely cast Black actors or attempted to tell stories of racial identity, something which will be a stain on his work for years to come.) However, to reduce Lynch to a singular ideological movement, especially one as broad as conservatism, would be a true disservice to his art.
Although his characters certainly fall from grace in ways often associated with attacks on the hippies of the ‘60s — drug use, hypersexuality, etc. — Lynch treats his fallen characters with care. Laura Palmer has become a blueprint for how to write truly complex characters who are victims of abuse without pinning the blame on her own actions. His central lesbian duo in “Mulholland Drive” are simultaneously complex and tragic, hopeful and doomed in a way films by other directors would create pulpy melodramas with no respect for ideas of longing.
In the same story in which he made comments on Trump, Lynch said he voted for Bernie Sanders in 2016. Lynch was beyond the political spectrum — he lived a relatively privileged life, one which would influence his art and allow him to stay above politics. His filmography, ripe with allusions to American fantasies, takes the apolitical lives of normal people and complicates them, focusing on broader ideas of power and criminality.
As time marches on and artists, columnists and film historians continue to debate Lynch’s true legacy, it is important to not conflate his dark musings on the American dream with conservatism. The towns which so frequently make an appearance in Lynch’s films, ripe with keeping-up-with-the-Joneses imagery, go deeper than just banal drama. Lynch cut to the heart of American ideals; by recreating the eras he loved, he applied his own surreal vision of evil under the surface, one which is more rooted in reality than many expect.
Jackson McCoy is a sophomore studying journalism and environmental studies at Ohio University. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. Want to share your thoughts? Let Jackson know by emailing or tweeting him at jm049122@ohio.edu or @_jackson_mccoy_.
