They Don’t Make ‘Em Like David Lynch Anymore

The pilot episode of Twin Peaks opens with the mundane rhythm of daily high school life: a girl sneaking a cigarette, a boy summoned to the principal's office, attendance being taken. Then, a police officer's hushed words to the teacher, a scream, a fleeing student, a teacher's tears, and the impending announcement. David Lynch's camera focuses on an empty desk, two students exchanging a look, a silent understanding: Laura Palmer is dead. This seemingly ordinary scene subtly introduces the thematic core of Lynch's work—the unsettling unease lurking beneath the surface of the everyday.

Lynch masterfully captured life's surface details, yet his genius lay in dissecting them, revealing the "just not right" that he consistently found beneath. The Twin Peaks moment exemplifies this, yet it's only one among countless others in his four-decade career. Ask any devoted Lynch fan, and you'll receive a different answer to what constitutes his definitive scene.

The term "Lynchian" encapsulates this unsettling, dreamlike quality that defined him. It's a descriptor that transcends specific stylistic elements, unlike "Spielbergian" or "Scorsese-ish," which denote particular visual or thematic aspects. "Lynchian," like "Kafkaesque," signifies something inherently unsettling and disorienting—a broader concept than the work that birthed it.

Watching Eraserhead was a formative experience for one of us (Scott), an experience later shared with his son, who, along with his girlfriend, independently discovered and binged Twin Peaks (reaching the Windom Earle arc of Season 2!). This speaks to the timelessness of Lynch's work, a timelessness tinged with the odd.

Twin Peaks: The Return (2017), arriving during Hollywood's nostalgia boom, saw Lynch defy expectations. He disregarded conventional storytelling, notably omitting key characters from the original series. This unconventional approach was quintessentially Lynchian.

Even his more conventional projects bear his unmistakable stamp. Dune, despite its infamous production troubles (detailed in Max Evry's A Masterpiece in Disarray), remains distinctly Lynchian, infused with his signature surreal imagery—like the unforgettable cat/rat milking machine. "It's the future, folks!" one can almost hear him declare.

Yet, Lynch's work also possesses beauty, despite its strangeness. The Elephant Man, while arguably his closest venture into mainstream appeal, remains deeply touching and moving, set against the unsettling backdrop of a historical era where the mistreatment of sideshow freaks was a grim reality.

Defining Lynch's work through genre or trope is futile. His films are dark, funny, dreamlike, surreal, and uniquely strange—a blend of elements instantly recognizable. His obsession with the world beneath the surface, pulling back the curtain to reveal hidden realities, is a hallmark of his work.

Blue Velvet, for instance, presents a seemingly idyllic setting, yet descends into a world of drug dealers and unsettling characters. This juxtaposition of seemingly normal exteriors with unsettling interiors is a recurring theme. His films draw upon influences—like his relationship with The Wizard of Oz, as explored in a documentary—that are now largely absent from contemporary filmmaking.

Lynch represents a culmination of influences, eventually becoming an influence himself. The term "Lynchian" reflects this unique position, signifying a style unlikely to be replicated. His impact is evident in contemporary films like I Saw the TV Glow, which shares Lynch's surrealism and was directly inspired by Twin Peaks.

Filmmakers like Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster), Robert Eggers (The Lighthouse), Ari Aster (Midsommar), David Robert Mitchell (It Follows, Under the Silver Lake), Emerald Fennell (Saltburn), Richard Kelly (Donnie Darko), Rose Glass (Love Lies Bleeding), and even Denis Villeneuve (in his earlier works) all show the breadth of Lynch's influence. Quentin Tarantino is also among those who clearly acknowledge Lynch's impact.

David Lynch's legacy extends beyond his individual works. He marks an end of an era, leaving behind a lasting influence on future generations of filmmakers. His ability to explore the world just beyond our perception, to reveal the "Lynchian" undercurrents of reality, is his enduring contribution.