David Lynch has one of the most polarizing bodies of work in Hollywood (though he is objectively one of the nicest and most genuine people there). His films divide audiences like they were born of a marriage between Moses and Solomon. Filled with peculiar idiosyncrasies and defiantly flaunting conventions of both genre and narrative, Lynch’s films have been stubborn in their consistency for most of his career. As a result, people who were turned off by one of his films at some point in their life often are confident that their distaste is justified and can applied to the entire Lynch oeuvre.

It is thus my goal with this piece to safely guide you through the world of Lynch so that you never become scared or confused, but rather engaged with and enthralled by one of the richest and strangest points of view of the previous half-century. The rewards that Lynch’s films have to offer are great, as they never patronize and often provoke, putting the ambiguities of life center-frame. To maximize said rewards, we’ll begin with the most accessible Lynch films, working our way deeper into his catalog until all those idiosyncrasies seem commonplace.

Blue Velvet (1986)



Blue Velvet is the most natural entry point because it provides the viewer with a familiar framework – that of the noir mystery – and then subverts it in all the ways that would come to be known as “Lynchian”. The themes and aesthetics that you’ll be dealing with as you move through Lynch’s work are all present here; red curtains, stage performance, dreams and nightmares, young love, Jack Nance, but primarily it is that which lies beneath the surface. From the green lawns with white picket fences to the charming boy next door, the truth is always obfuscated in Lynch; buried under the veneer of the surface there is always some dark and unknown to discover.

The film centers around Kyle MacLachlan‘s Jeffrey Beaumont, freshly returned to his hometown from college, and follows him as he discovers something lonely in the woods and attempts to trace it back to its origin. Along the way, Jeffrey’s world becomes populated with increasingly fantastical characters, all embodied by powerhouse performances from their players: Laura Dern and more famously (and quotably) Dennis Hopper to be sure, but especially Isabella Rossellini and especially Dean Stockwell. Endlessly controversial upon its release, Blue Velvet‘s shock value still holds up almost 30 years later, but the real value of this film is to act as a testament to what can be achieved when all elements both in front of and behind the camera are utilized to fulfill a clear synthesis of vision.

Twin Peaks (1990)



So you just watched Blue Velvet and I bet you’re thinking “Wow, that was great. I kind of wish it was 23 some hours long though.” Well good thing for you there’s a little show called Twin Peaks! Born out of a collaboration between Lynch and seasoned television writer Mark Frost, who lent his storytelling sensibilities to Lynch’s dark surrealism, and following the first TV writers strike that also saw the birth of the show Cops, Twin Peaks premiered to both critical appraise and unexpectedly wide viewership. For one magical season the question “Who Killed Laura Palmer?” was on the lips of the world.

Like Blue Velvet before it, Twin Peaks takes a familiar form, this time television soap operas, and completely undermines it, revealing both its absurdity and horror. Despite that, Twin Peaks is decidedly the most humorous and light-hearted work of Lynch’s career. Kyle MacLachlan‘s Special Agent Dale Cooper anchors the ensemble cast and centers the shows many disparate plot lines. A boy scout rolled into a keen detective with Buddhist tendencies, Cooper is righteousness and rectitude personified; the perfect yin to the yang that is the evil that lies within the woods, and possibly the most likable character ever to appear on television.

Brought to the town of Twin Peaks to investigate a murder that has shaken the community there to its core, Cooper finds himself just one more in a colorful cast of characters that go way beyond both ends of the ROYGBIV spectrum. The joy, terror, shock and bewilderment that result from their co-mingling constitute one of the most unusual and transgressive series to ever grace a cathode ray tube. Some criticize Peaks for its lack of consistency through its second season, made while Lynch was away focusing on Wild at Heart, but its worth watching to get to the last episode, which represents the most amazing hour of scripted drama ever aired of American network television.

Something must be said here about Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, the cinematic follow-up to the series, because nothing will be elsewhere. That something is this: it’s OK. It’s more Twin Peaks and it has David Bowie, so it’s got those things going for it, and those things are huge considerations, but it will invariably be a disappointment. I’d recommend not watching it immediately following the series finale, but waiting to do so somewhere after 4 or 5 more films down the list.

Mulholland Dr. (2001)

David Lynch has had a career arc somewhat similar to that of Prince; he started out pretty weird, then gradually his sensibilities came to both overlap with and define the prevailing zeitgeist, before ebbing out of sync again. With Mulholland Drive, Lynch found himself switched back into full “flow” mode, as uncertainty, confusion, fear and the squashing of hope became the prevailing themes of the day after September 11th.

Naomi Watts makes her debut as beaming girl next door Betty, as she lands in LA and attempts to start a career as a Hollywood actress. Along the way she encounters Rita (Laura Elena Harring), a glamorous and amnesic woman who appeals to Betty’s good-hearted sincerity and enlists her to help her discover her true identity. But is Rita the one truly in need of self-discovery?

Mulholland Drive is the 2nd in Lynch’s “Möbius film” thematic trilogy and arguably the most fully realized. It takes the “puzzle film” to new realm, shifting the focus of the mystery from the plot to the arrangement of the film itself (syuzhet and fabula respectively, if we’re getting fancy with it). Further muddying up easy classification is the director’s seeming disregard for genre convention; the film touches on noir, romance, comedy, horror, mystery, the western, and drama. Definitely one that warrants repeated viewings, Mulholland Drive is as richly layered as it is baffling and horrifying, and there are few cinematic experiences as versatile.

Eraserhead (1977)



One of the first “Midnight Movies”, Eraserhead follows Henry, played by Lynch staple (Lynchpin?) Jack Nance, a man whose inherent insipidity is belied by his fashion-forward haircut (I always wondered if Kid from Kid n’ Play saw this movie). After a hard day traversing urban dunes, Henry is invited over to his special girl, Mary X’s, parent’s house for dinner, where he learns of an imminent development that will quickly upend his quiet, domestic home life.

Eraserhead is a semi auto-biographical film, taking its inspiration from events in Lynch’s own life at the time. Made over a period of 5 years, Lynch’s first feature remains his most idiosyncratic; a fully realized vision from a young filmmaker unhampered by industry expectations or prior experience. A favorite among many cineastes, ranging from Stanley Kubrick to Die Antwoord, Lynch’s surrealistic masterpiece is often compared to the early works of Luis Bunuel, but doing so does a disservice Eraserhead‘s originality. The stark industrial landscapes of Philadelphia (photographed by all-time master cinematographer Frederick Elmes, in what was also his first feature), the droning and unsettling audio track, the melodramatic yet trepidatious acting, these are all elements at once unfamiliar to the big screen prior and indicative of an emerging auteur.

Here you have reached the demarcation point. You’ve experienced the essential Lynch works and can pretty assuredly determine for yourself whether or not he jibes with your vibe. If not, so be it, at least you gave it a shot, but you’re now free to walk away. If, as I suspect, you have been sucked into a peculiar world that you do not yet fully understand but for which you nevertheless feel fascination, then please allow me to guide you further.

Lost Highway (1997)

After the commercial and critical failure of Fire Walk With Me, Lynch went into a sort of self-induced hibernation and emerged with this shimmering jazz-metal butterfly of a film. The Kagemusha to Mulholland Drive‘s Ran, Lost Highway kicks off Lynch’s “Prisoners of the Mind” thematic trilogy (ok, it doesn’t have an official name and I like making them up). The film stars Bill Pullman, of all people, as saxophonist Fred Madison, who starts receiving some very disturbing and privacy-violating tapes at the home of him and his wife, Patricia Arquette. As the tapes become more unsettling, Fred’s investigation into them grows deeper, eventually landing him in a situation from which there is seemingly no escape. But as always in Lynch, nothing is as it seems.

Featuring the final performances of Richard Pryor and Jack Nance, Lost Highway also offers career-performances from Robert Loggia as hyperbolically villainous Mr. Eddy and character actor Robert Blake as The Mystery Man. Blake owns the scene that steals the movie, in which The Mystery Man approaches Fred at a party and offers him a phone call with probably the last person anyone, even the viewer, expects to be on the other line. In addition to its exceptional casting, the film is also notable for its commercially successful industrial soundtrack, produced by a pre-score composing Trent Reznor and featuring ’90s alternative staples such as The Smashing Pumpkins and Marliyn Manson, as well as their forebears David Bowie and Lou Reed. Lost Highway isn’t a perfect film, but it announced to the world a doubling-down for David Lynch; that he was absolutely through making films for anyone but himself.

The Elephant Man (1980)



Imagine that you had just seen Eraserhead and thought to yourself “I wonder what this guy would do with a dramatic period piece?” This was the thought process of Executive Producer Stuart Cornfeld, who then sold his producing partner Mel Brooks on the idea of hiring Lynch for their adaptation of the life of Victorian celebrity Joseph Merrick (called John in the film). The film is a fictionalized account of Merrick’s experience rising from London’s freak shows to its high society, by way of Anthony Hopkins‘ Frederick Treves, whose interest in this deformed specimen found their way beyond the merely scientific.

The Elephant Man is a masterclass in acting, showcasing Lynch’s talent for directing thespians as something almost inherent, wrangling stars Anthony Hopkins and Anne Bancroft in his major studio debut. Were it not for the hallucinatory sequences that bookend the film, one might not be able to discern it as Lynch’s, but there is one important theme at work in Merrick, central to all of Lynch’s protagonists, that of self-discovery. From Henry all the way to Jeffrey and on through Betty, Lynch’s leads are always the subject of a transformation that they sought out, but whose final consequences were perhaps not what they imagined, as is so often the case in life. The Elephant Man might not satisfy those looking for that singular Lynch feeling, but it’s a solid film all the same.

Inland Empire (2006)

Easily Lynch’s most confounding film, Inland Empire is a 3-hour epic of an inner life going to ruins. Laura Dern returns to the Lynch fold for the first time in over a decade, playing a successful actress who begins to conflate her real life with that of her character in a remake of a failed Polish production. That’s about as linear an explanation of this film as you’re likely to get.

Shot entirely on DV, Lynch’s most recent feature film traces its roots all the way back to Eraserhead, returning the director to a place of pure experimentation unhampered by investors or studio expectations. Inland Empire is a kind of hodgepodge of vignettes, the threads of which weave in and out of the narrative, and which were originally shot without a final order or purpose in mind, exemplifying the free-flowing creative techniques sprung from Lynch’s daily practice of Transcendental Meditation.

Thus, this is a film whose viewing experience really benefits from a familiarity with Lynch’s output (as well as repeat viewings), which is why it’s appearing near so late on this list; a surprise cameo even makes a case for the film being a direct sequel to one of hiss previous films. One is bound to experience some confusion and even frustration working their way through an initial viewing of Inland Empire, but nearing its 10-year anniversary, I am confident that age and perspective will help the film emerge into its proper context as one of the great cinematic experiments of the century thus far.

Wild at Heart (1990)



The fact that I’m near the end of this list and am only just getting to this film really speaks to Lynch’s consistency, vision and quality of output. Probably the most playful of Lynch’s films, Wild at Heart is an adaptation of Barry Gifford‘s novel of the same name, filtered through the lens of The Wizard of Oz. The film stars Nicholas Cage and Laura Dern as Sailor and Lula, young lovers reunited who just gotta dance. But their dancing violently angers Lula’s mother, played by Dern’s real life mother Dianne Ladd, to the point of hiring a hitman (J.E. Freeman) to assassinate the recently released jail-bird. The couple embark on a road trip celebrating individual freedom, unaware of their hired shadow, and meeting a bevvy of strange characters along the way.

Wild at Heart was made right on the heels of Twin Peaks, seeing Lynch at the height of his cultural powers, which helps to account for the star-studded cast. Cage is near his most unhinged, as well as his most transcendent, in the role and manages to be able to stick out among a group that also includes Crispin Glover, John Lurie and Harry Dean Stanton, in addition to a host of Lynch regulars. If that sounds like a little too much crazy packed into one film, it kind of is, but the final effect of it all is a dream-like road-romance with as much feeling as insanity.

The Straight Story (1999)

The Straight Story marks the only instance in Lynch’s career where he was purely a director for hire, having nothing to do with the screenwriting process. Consequently, it is absent of most of the hallmarks one would look for in order to identify something as having been made by David Lynch. In their stead, however, is a rich, beautiful and contemplative work on aging, death and family.

Richard Farnsworth, in his final role, stars as Alvin, who decides to travel from Iowa to Wisconsin on a lawnmower in order to see his estranged brother after hearing that he has cancer. Based on a true story, the film triumphs in making some of the most boring landscapes in America seem brilliant, a feat due largely to the cinematographer of Freddie Francis, who served as DP on Lynch’s other two non-self-initiated projects, The Elephant Man and Dune. Like those films, The Straight Story might not satisfy every David Lynch adherent out there, but its heart, somberness and understated humor make it worth watching all the same.

Dune (1984)

Here we have the one failure of Lynch’s career, the exception that proves the rule. The exception is not that of Lynch’s misstep in abilities, however, but that of not having final cut of his film, the rule being: always trust David Lynch. An adaptation of Frank Herbert’s landmark sci-fi novel, Lynch’s Dune is characterized by lavish and intricate set design, rich world-building and a strong cast adorned in meticulously executed costumes. But the film is weighed down massively by the producers’ insistence on heavy exposition and laborious action sequences. The result is a film turned against itself, looking beautiful but feeling nothing of the sort.

It is a common piece of cinematic trivia that Lynch made this film after turning down the opportunity to direct Return of the Jedi. It’s interesting to imagine what that film might have been, but it’s possible that had he made it, his career could have been sent into an entirely different trajectory. Dune is the film this timeline has, and Dune is the film that confirmed David Lynch’s desire to only make movies affirming of his particular vision, making it a proper place to complete this trip through three decades of some of the best weirdness every projected on a screen.

Even though we covered every feature film in his career, this truly is only a beginner’s guide to David Lynch. The man never stops working, and the world of Lynch is wide and varied. Shorts, cartoons, comics, student films, paintings, albums, coffee, a film school, commercials, a meditation foundation, furniture, books, acting roles, sculpture, and objectively the best “Ice Bucket Challenge” video of that whole thing, all add to the wider artistic contribution of David Lynch to the world.

Even with all of those credits to his name, his films (and TV show) will always be the first things that come to mind upon its mention. They are an honest glimpse of every side of humanity, and stand so far out on their own in style, tone and subject matter that the only word ever appropriate to accurately describe them is simply “Lynchian.”

What is your favorite Lynch film?

(top image source: indiewire.com)