Dir.: David Lynch

David Lynch's most complete and perfect film!

The movie that made me "fall in love" with David Lynch and cinema...

"I am not an elephant! I am not an animal! I am a human being! I am a man!"

I remember a conversation I had a couple of years ago with a friend of mine who goes to art school in which she told me something very interesting about how she perceived Picasso's work. She said that she thought he was just alright until she saw his early works, that it wasn't until she saw that he could paint very well while following the rules of art at the time that she could truly appreciate how he was able to break the rules.



In a similar way, I think The Elephant Man is an absolutely essential piece in David Lynch's - who, as I'm sure you know, is also a painter - oeuvre. It shows how he was able to craft a film that played by the rules of Hollywood and keep his vision and integrity intact. Lynch's career path has taken so many twists and reached so many peaks and valleys, that you really can't call it a path anymore. Not with a straight face, anyway. He abandoned any pretence of a traditional Hollywood career a long time ago and a familiarity with his subsequent work makes watching The Elephant Man all the more fascinating. Back in 1980, Lynch was just beginning to make his way as a filmmaker, but had already found a style distinctly his own through his experimental short films and the 1977 cult hit Eraserhead. This cinematic voice reverberates through every frame of this film. Even today, The Elephant Man remains one of Lynch's very best films and certainly one of his most accessible.

The film is based on the true story of John Merrick (John Hurt), discovered by Dr. Frederick Treves (Anthony Hopkins) on display as a circus freak and billed as the Elephant Man. Treves teaches anatomy at London Hospital and is immediately overwhelmed by the wide array of physical deformities suffered by Merrick. He is intrigued by him as a specimen, but - understandably - assumes him to be an imbecile. Even so, when Treves discovers that Merrick is savagely beaten and misused by his "owner" Mr. Bytes, the proprietor of the attraction, he arranges for him to be given shelter at the hospital.

Once there, Treves is astounded to learn that Merrick is in fact quite literate and his misshapen body houses the soul of a true English gentleman. Word of London Hospital's new patient spreads and Merrick again finds himself the centre of attention, greeting visitors from the highest echelons of society. Treves now begins to wonder: is he any better than any of the others who've exploited Merrick for their own benefit? Merrick seems happier than he's ever been, but why did Treves bring him to the hospital in the first place?

The first act of the film, before we see Merrick's face, is wonderfully directed. Lynch makes us hate the people who gawk at Merrick, not because we believe in the dignity of all creatures as we would like to think, but because we are jealous of the people who see what he looks like. We paid our money, and we want to see what these people are seeing. It is only after we see Merrick's face and learn of his intellect that we are able to raise ourselves above the level of the gawkers, of only by a little bit.

Of important note are the two shots that set Merrick's first visit to the hospital. Each shot is taken from an elevated position, distancing ourselves from Merrick. This distance works on multiple levels. First, it gives the impression of a peeper looking at Merrick. This is emphasized in the first of the two shots, since we are able to see a staircase leading up to our level. Second, it shows how we look down on him, both literally and figuratively. Third, and most importantly, it is the same distance and angle shot. This shows how nothing has changed. Treves doesn't understand him as a human being, and neither do we. We do later, but at this point he is just another freak to us.

The film's fascination with the two-faced nature of Victorian London society is born out in how Lynch employs veteran cinematographer Freddie Francis' gorgeous black and white photography. Over and over again, Lynch's camera is fixated on the elements of industrialization and modernity - smoke chimneys, enormous machinery, an operation on the mangled body of the victim on an industrial accident. While much of the story takes place in the world of the upper class - the hospital, Treves' home, the opera - many scenes are set in the squalid back alleys of London, which immediately establishes a consistent visual juxtaposition that illustrates Victorian society's deep split. This is complicated, however, by Merrick's outcast status, as his deformed body precludes his being fully a part of either the upper or the lower class - he is completely outside.

The cast of The Elephant Man includes some of the most distinguished actors of all time, including Sir John Gielgud, Anne Bancroft, Wendy Hiller and Freddie Jones as Bytes. But the brunt of the film rests on Anthony Hopkins and John Hurt. Their work in this film ranks among the best of both their careers. Hopkins expertly conveys the warring feelings of ambition and compassion that Treves struggles with. As for Hurt, he's extraordinary, completely buried beneath prosthetic make-up that renders him totally unrecognisable. John Hurt is the heart and soul of this film and it is virtually impossible to remain unmoved by his performance.

David Lynch, who - I've told this story 300 times, I know - is the filmmaker who made me fall in love with cinema, is too often dismissed as an intellectual weirdo. He may well be an intellectual weirdo, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying his films. Whenever I meet someone who can't quite embrace Lynch's more esoteric films, like Mulholland Drive, Blue Velvet and especially Eraserhead, I usually point them toward The Straight Story and especially The Elephant Man. This is a beautifully produced, deeply humanistic film that promotes a message of tolerance, which makes it mandatory for any cinephile. Nominated for eight Oscars - it won none.

David Lynch in its more raw and natural state. A film that has haunted me profoundly (in the most positive way possible) since the first time I saw it. A work of rare genius and real bravery. A stream of subconsciousness work of art in surrealism and abstractness. Eraserhead, ironically, for being Lynch's first and most honest, even 'naive' film, ends up being the one that can get you the closest you'll ever be to understand his world, to see through his mind. It's a film that seems to require interpretation. Answers, however - and this really is what stops any human being from enjoying Lynch's work - are so distant that you'll wonder if they are even intended. May very well be the greatest debut by an American director after Welles' Citizen Kane.

"The worst part of being old is rememberin' when you was young."

Inspirational. The personification of what films are supposed to be. David Lynch's most 'normal' and humane film since The Elephant Man. The living proof that a man and artist's genius can show itself in more than one way.



Based on a true story, The Straight Story follows 73-year-old Alvin Straight (Richard Farnsworth, in the best acting performance of 1999, next to Kevin Spacey) as he travels cross-country on his '66 John Deere lawnmower. Alvin lives with his daughter Rosie (the magnificent Sissy Spacek) who has a speech problem, he doesn't have a driver's license, can't see very well, and can't stand without the help of two canes. All that, however, won't (and didn't) stand in his way of travelling 240 miles between Laurens, Iowa and Mount Zion, Wisconsin, when he hears that his estranged brother (Harry Dean Stanton), whom he hasn't spoken to in 10 years, has suffered a stroke.

During the six week period his journey took, Alvin meets all sorts of different people, like a pregnant teenager, a group of cyclists and a nice couple who lets him camp in their front lawn when his lawnmower breaks down. Alvin helps them with their problems, even if simply by sharing his old-fashioned country wisdom, and they all feel the need to help him too. In one occasion one of the friendly neighbours offers to drive him to his destination. Alvin's reply is, "you're a kind mind talking to a stubborn man."

While watching The Straight Story, I asked myself a simple question: If I hadn't known the director's identity beforehand and hadn't seen the opening credits, would I have recognized this as a Lynch effort? The answer, no matter how big of a Lynch fan I am, is probably no. This is a G-rated film, distributed by Walt Disney Pictures. I mean, the words Lynch and Disney don't go together... right? Apparently they do.

Although astute viewers may be able to find traces of Lynch's usual bizarro small-town characters from Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks, the truth is that The Straight Story, even with its share of weirdness, doesn't belong to the steroetyped 'Lynchian Universe'. While Blue Velvet opened with a shot that burrows beneath the ground to reveal maggots, The Straight Story starts with a placid view of a starfield. Lynch takes a break from the nightmarishness and darkness which he obviously prefers to emphasize in the human nature and, for once, focusses on its humanity and simplicity. He doesn't attempt to dissect middle America - he celebrates it. And more importantly, he brings back a time where American cinema was unique and the good old road movies and westerns were a joy to watch.

Lynch paces the film beautifully, allowing Alvin's character to be developed in such a way that the climactic scene has a genuine emotional impact. The Straight Story moves slowly, very slowly, which almost works as a sort of metaphor in a film that concerns travel by a lawnmower. The cinematography (by Freddie Francis) is evocative, and features numerous shots of autumn leaves and corn fields ready to be razed. Angelo Badalamenti (the composer of the "Twin Peaks" theme) turns in a wonderful score that enhances the atmosphere without ever becoming intrusive.

A beautiful, beautiful film.

"I figured one day I'd just wake up and find out what the hell yesterday was all about. I'm not too keen on thinkin' about tommorow. And today's slipping by..."



First of all, it's no secret, anyone around here who knows me remotely, knows that I'm a 'Lynchian freak'. I've been since I can remember watching films. Since the first time I was 'introduced' to his world when one day, as a kid, I happened to catch Blue Velvet on TV. So, that's why, no matter the flaws his films may have, I just don't have the ability to deslike them and, therefore, to rate them less than 8/10. His brilliance, even if sometimes I might not fully understand it, offuscates everything else and makes me even more sure that he IS one of the greatest artists that Cinema and Art in general have ever created. I do, however, have the ability to admit that INLAND EMPIRE isn't Lynch's best film. It just isn't, and to say that it is would only be an insult to films like Mulholland Drive and Blue Velvet.

The only thing that INLAND EMPIRE is for SURE is Lynch's most experimental and ambitious film to date. That's just undiscussable. Entirely shot with his personal digicam (a Sony PD-150) and with absolutely no creative restrictions from any 'producer', INLAND... is a little of each of its author's previews films (from the early days' abstractness of his short films and Eraserhead to the maturity of more complete and mainstream accepted films like Mulholland... and Lost Highway) put together in a mesmerizing and transcendental three-hour experience.



As for the plot, even though to call it 'plot' is kind of redundant, it goes something like this: Laura Dern, who in my opinion gives the best female performance of the year, absolutely monumental and haunting, plays Nikki Grace, a young actress who is given the biggest role of her career playing the role of Susan Blue in a big Hollywood movie ('On High In Blue Tomorrows') directed by the british accented Kingsley Stewart (Jeremy Irons) and co-starring the womanizing Devon Berk (Justin Theroux) who in the film plays Billy Side, a married man with 'his eye on' Sue. They later discover the film is actually a remake of a polish film ('4/7') that was never oficially released due to the fact that both stars were brutally murdered. We're introduced to the possibility of the film being 'cursed'... As Nikki's character slowly falls for Devon's in the film, so does she for the actor outside the set.

The first third of the film flows in a minimally calm and understandable level. It's only from a certain point that we loose control, just like Dern's character does. She starts to loose the notion between reality and 'fiction' - with a scene where she warns Devon about her husband's suspicions about their affair and suddenly realizes that... "Damn! It sounds like dialogue from our script." with a 'Cut!' interruption by the director... - never being completely aware of when she's Nikki and when she's Sue. From this moment on any attempt of logic is hopeless. The last two hours of the film are an authentic dive into Lynch's fascinatingly weird world, with Dern's character going from Hollywood movie star to ranch-house housewife and street prostitute. Of course, the film's long rutime
means mutiple classic Lynchian moments, like his famous rabbits sitcom or the final scene (one of the most brilliantly messed up endings you'll ever see). Some completely hilarious, others pure torture and nightmare... Either way, wether you're a Lynch fan or not, completely unforgettable!

When it comes to describe a Lynch film (or at least try) the most recurrent adjectives are surreal, bizarre, hallucinatory, abstract, hypnotic, metaphysical, brilliant... INLAND EMPIRE is all that, it just has the meaning of each adjective multiplied by 10. There's the typical feeling of incoherence and senselessness but, even for a Lynch fan like myself, it feels sometimes as if he pushed too hard. Which is why I didn't give it more than a 4/5 rating. I had the chance to read some negative reviews here, I won't counter-argue... My advice is still the same: open your mind. Just let go and try to appreciate one man's art for what it is: art.