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DOWSE Guide to the
Movies
by Tony Lee editor of
Pigasus
Press
Killing Time With Mr Eraserhead
A Tribute to David Lynch
by Dawn Andrews
"Fate plays the biggest part." - David Lynch
From the first moment I was in love. With both of you,
but my passion for Mr. Lynch has proved to be lasting
and true. It has an intensity of longing and horror
that makes the desire to stay win out over the need to
run. (To switch off.)
On the screen the planet draws closer, its surface
gleaming and pitted. The man in the planet, suffering,
diseased, controls - what exactly? The mercurial pool,
into which deformed sperm, born from Henry's mute
scream, fall.
You had that leather armchair we sprawled on, to watch
films. We were like a couple of stray cats who had
found refuge. Everything, the whole world, felt
temporary, it remade itself as we slept, it depended
upon our moods. Fragile or metallic, tender or dangerous.
The room was so small it made the chair seem huge. It
could not contain us, we spilled out, into the hallways, into the town,
pub-crawling, video and book collecting. Taking
everything back to gloat over, to feast upon.
In heaven, everything is fine.
You've got your good things and I've got mine."
We entered the wasteland. Spoil heaps, broken windows.
Henry, a tragicomic figure, pens and pencils in his
top pocket, is in a state of constant anxiety. The
ride in the lift, his encounter with an enigmatic and
beautiful neighbour, all fuel his state of extreme
unease.
Temptation and desire are always to be avoided, as
Henry avoids the seductive eyes of his neighbour. No
other filmmaker fears temptation as openly as David
Lynch. Yet he has created some of the most perverse
and erotically-charged scenes ever captured on film.
"I like to make films because I like to go into
another world. I like to get lost in another world and
film to me is a magical medium that allows you to
dream in the dark." - David Lynch.
Eyes open, lost in the dark.
Pile of earth on the chest of drawers, reminder of The
Grandmother, as is the tree growing by the bed. Within
a drawer lies the discarded torn photograph of Mary,
who hasn't been around, lately.
Echo of a childishly fretful voice.
The light is always cast upwards by powerful lamps,
creating twisted shadows and eerie bleached faces.
Despair and absurdity of dinner with the parents from
hell, who has not experienced such moments of
alienation? Although extreme there are naturalistic
elements to all of Lynch's films, and that is what
truly unsettles, that erasure of the boundaries
between dreams and waking nightmares.
Baby chickens spouting blood are a taste of things to
come. Poor Henry! What does he know? Tangled in the
hopelessness, with a repulsive offspring and an idiot
bride. The 'baby' conjures intense revulsion and pity,
its gleaming eyes and moist skin nauseating yet
touching, as are the bandages that cocoon it tightly.
Mary, still a dependent child herself, runs home.
Returns, runs away again. (as runaway children do.)
Henry is seduced by his neighbour. They sink into a
milky pool, the baby mewling weakly in the background.
The neighbour however is out of her depth in the
substances that make up his world. She envisages the
head of the baby in the place of Henry's and backs
away, horrified.
Henry and eraserhead, one and the same. An artist
tends to fixate on the tools
of his/her trade, and David Lynch is multitalented,
cartoonist, graphic artist, painter. He has used raw
meat in his paintings, maggots, utilized on the
processes of decay, mortification.
The Lady in the Radiator, with her absurd pouched
cheeks and shy gestures, is now Henry's only
salvation, his release. Her song, inane and cloying,
her dance, as she crushes the nauseous wriggling sperm
beneath her shoes, is what he yearns for. The
innocence and lack of threat, all fear of paternity
oozing out beneath her feet.
To reach his dream, the pathetic and malformed
offspring must be erased. The mistake, the blunder,
rubbed out. White light, white paper.
"I keep hoping people will like distractions, space to
dream, consider things that don't necessarily add up." - David Lynch.
The number of Henry's room is 26. At the Lost Highway
motel the room where Mr. Eddy/Laurent is laid by Renee
and taken prisoner by Fred is No. 26.
No adding up is necessary.
| Famous Lines from Famous Movies
"The life of the mind.
- John Turturro, to John Goodman, in |
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