The two studio films David Lynch directed happen to be his most enjoyable. What at first might have appeared to be making concessions adhering to commercial practices catering to the moviegoing public thereby diminishing the artistry of Lynch’s esoteric inspiration on the contrary attain an alchemy of personal pop that works better than you might have realized.
While The Elephant Man (1980, David Lynch) takes a prestige source’ high attributes and secretly conceals a moral whereby if you buy into it you’re the real monster freak Dune (1984, Lynch) on the other hand takes a vulgar pulpy source’ low attributes and secretly conceals a moral whereby being able to acknowledge there’s no way you could buy into it with a straight face becomes exhilarating. One is Lynch’s most quiet miniature model the other his loudest behemoth. They stand apart from his other films because each is in service of a conventional plot driven narrative with the ultimate aims of a life affirming inspirational heroic portrait of its protagonist. One sees the dignity in someone trampled over by the world the other sees the base forced phoniness of admiring the thought of someone trampling over the world and subjugating it. Light and its shadow.
The Elephant Man and Dune are also Lynch’s only period films. The past = prestige. The future = popcorn.Why are these also the only two of Lynch’s films with the male protagonist so close to and so influenced by his mother? I don’t know if there is an answer or if that question’s even worth asking but I see them as stage two in the development of Lynch as cinema artist. The little boy.
Trivia section. Both The Elephant Man and Dune feature small roles for the wife of the producer of each of them. And my latest indulgence in projecting. Take this as a joke. But seriously the end of The Elephant Man the final shot is of stars in the night sky backdrop against which the center of the frame is the face of John Merrick’s mother could very well act as a bridge to his next movie Dune opening with Princess Irulan facing into the lens narration with stars in the night sky behind her.
Nothing beats finding your own personal reading or experience or perspective of a film. One that defies the mass agreed upon consensus. Dramatic irony is a stunner. How can I put this plainly? You know how in The Elephant Man there’s that proprietor who abuses John Merrick and subjugates him to chattel? That dude’s my favorite character in the movie. The one I empathize respect and am moved by. Love him. None of the other characters really do anything for me.
I was like everyone else. The first few times in my life when I saw The Elephant Man I cried during the scenes when Merrick lays his head on the pillow. Or when he cradles the cane in dandy finery gesturing whimsically with his hand putting on airs with the confidence found he deserved but had heretofore been denied his whole life. Thought how ugly the world is that the poor people treat this deformed innocent soul so cruel. But then something changed. The upper-class people aren’t as kind as I had first thought. Revisiting the film again this year first I noticed Anthony Hopkins performance is offputting. There’s something not right about Treves. He feels lifeless. Dispassionate. The equivalent of one in that Kubrick fatigue-fugue wandering out of orbit sociopath. Yeah yeah I know what you’re saying but he invites Merrick for tea at his private residence to meet his wife. He sheds that tsunami of a tear in that tender friendship scene with Merrick. But I don’t think this film is saying what we think it’s saying anymore. I think that that stuff is there for the other ninety-nine percent.
Mothershead (Wendy Hiller) full of contempt in defiance of any perceived obligation on her part to be kind to Merrick abandons her disdain for him why? Because he wins her over or because—like in society—it becomes the popular thing to do. What about Gielgud you say? Carr Gomm seems taken with Merrick? Nope. His motives are clearly the pride he indulges in over the Queen sending her congratulatory emissary to express her support of Merrick. And could one not infer that HRH only does so after the papers knight Merrick their darling?
Even that famous actress KENDAL is as fakeass an influencer as Jenner betrays her true colors when reading Shakespeare with Merrick. Literally the iteration of performative kindness. She isn’t interacting with Merrick she’s reciting dialogue with Romeo. It’s subtle. But there’s a huge difference. Merrick builds St. Philip’s church because nothing is real. The Elephant Man is about being lonely. Its final image tells us heaven is dying all alone without anyone except maybe one friend and the memory of a parent who loved you.
The Elephant Man and Dune are also Lynch’s only period films. The past = prestige. The future = popcorn.Why are these also the only two of Lynch’s films with the male protagonist so close to and so influenced by his mother? I don’t know if there is an answer or if that question’s even worth asking but I see them as stage two in the development of Lynch as cinema artist. The little boy.
Trivia section. Both The Elephant Man and Dune feature small roles for the wife of the producer of each of them. And my latest indulgence in projecting. Take this as a joke. But seriously the end of The Elephant Man the final shot is of stars in the night sky backdrop against which the center of the frame is the face of John Merrick’s mother could very well act as a bridge to his next movie Dune opening with Princess Irulan facing into the lens narration with stars in the night sky behind her.
I was like everyone else. The first few times in my life when I saw The Elephant Man I cried during the scenes when Merrick lays his head on the pillow. Or when he cradles the cane in dandy finery gesturing whimsically with his hand putting on airs with the confidence found he deserved but had heretofore been denied his whole life. Thought how ugly the world is that the poor people treat this deformed innocent soul so cruel. But then something changed. The upper-class people aren’t as kind as I had first thought. Revisiting the film again this year first I noticed Anthony Hopkins performance is offputting. There’s something not right about Treves. He feels lifeless. Dispassionate. The equivalent of one in that Kubrick fatigue-fugue wandering out of orbit sociopath. Yeah yeah I know what you’re saying but he invites Merrick for tea at his private residence to meet his wife. He sheds that tsunami of a tear in that tender friendship scene with Merrick. But I don’t think this film is saying what we think it’s saying anymore. I think that that stuff is there for the other ninety-nine percent.
Mothershead (Wendy Hiller) full of contempt in defiance of any perceived obligation on her part to be kind to Merrick abandons her disdain for him why? Because he wins her over or because—like in society—it becomes the popular thing to do. What about Gielgud you say? Carr Gomm seems taken with Merrick? Nope. His motives are clearly the pride he indulges in over the Queen sending her congratulatory emissary to express her support of Merrick. And could one not infer that HRH only does so after the papers knight Merrick their darling?
Even that famous actress KENDAL is as fakeass an influencer as Jenner betrays her true colors when reading Shakespeare with Merrick. Literally the iteration of performative kindness. She isn’t interacting with Merrick she’s reciting dialogue with Romeo. It’s subtle. But there’s a huge difference. Merrick builds St. Philip’s church because nothing is real. The Elephant Man is about being lonely. Its final image tells us heaven is dying all alone without anyone except maybe one friend and the memory of a parent who loved you.
And were I to sink to a crude inference I'd say it's even about incels. If that's not a masturbation joke when Treves is presenting Merrick lecturing to his colleagues when he says ninety-nine percent of his body is covered in tumors deformed but his genitals are in peferct working order and his left arm works great!
So what about my boy BYTES? First of all I just love the actor Freddie Jones. More and more his performance every time I watch this. I don’t know what you’d call it? Maybe not quite gravitas. Maybe presence. But the dude is cool as all get out. And he’s the mythmaker. Without him this film—Merrick—would lack the art of it all. We know Merrick’s mother didn’t perish underfoot of an African elephant stampede while she was four months pregnant yet that becomes truth because it burns into our memory more savagely than truth. Compounded with Lynch opening the film with nightmare montage offspeed frame rate elephants and the unidentifiable sound design slowed underwater claustrophobic boring into our senses wailing her writhing in agony—also proof I’d like to submit to anyone brazen enough to say this isn’t really like Lynch’s other films.
Bytes created Merrick. Then the hospital had the wherewithal to put him on the worldstage while robbing him of his livelihood. Feels like Hollywood allegory to me. And psycho me when Bytes flogs Merrick a scene that should be to everyone’s horror to me is more sincere than any other. When Bytes reprimands him where have you been what have you been doing that hits home with me with the pathos of true love desperation scorn the transitory delicate balance of it all.
When Bytes sneaks in with the Sonny Jim crowd he doesn’t compel those whores to taunt Merrick out of malice but as a diversionary tactic to subsequently spirit him away. And what we’re left with is the fading away of Bytes. Of a way of life. The freakshow circuit carny refuse aesthetically in Lynch’s hands is a dreamworld delight. His industrial age never better a fit for his industrial sound design. So much to enjoy. The sound design is everything from the grinding anguish ambience of elephant eardrum pounding growl to the rumbling churning alleys and hospital bowels boilers clock mechanisms all honed blended and painted by none other than you guessed it. Alan Splet. And Lynch himself.
Finally how visceral are the scenes incidental to the foreground plot like the machine accident victim’s skin peeled off being operated on. Or the two tarts in the hospital waiting room whose faces are torn off from clawing at each other amidst a wild mob seeming to feed off of it—as a distraction for my boy Bytes to sneak in. Man he really gravitates toward has a knack of finding the nasty. But alas light and dark. When Merrick goes to the theater that Dziga Vertov montage proves this kind of subjective childlike angel pure wonder Lynch bestows him can only come from one who knows the only answer is love.
So what about my boy BYTES? First of all I just love the actor Freddie Jones. More and more his performance every time I watch this. I don’t know what you’d call it? Maybe not quite gravitas. Maybe presence. But the dude is cool as all get out. And he’s the mythmaker. Without him this film—Merrick—would lack the art of it all. We know Merrick’s mother didn’t perish underfoot of an African elephant stampede while she was four months pregnant yet that becomes truth because it burns into our memory more savagely than truth. Compounded with Lynch opening the film with nightmare montage offspeed frame rate elephants and the unidentifiable sound design slowed underwater claustrophobic boring into our senses wailing her writhing in agony—also proof I’d like to submit to anyone brazen enough to say this isn’t really like Lynch’s other films.
Bytes created Merrick. Then the hospital had the wherewithal to put him on the worldstage while robbing him of his livelihood. Feels like Hollywood allegory to me. And psycho me when Bytes flogs Merrick a scene that should be to everyone’s horror to me is more sincere than any other. When Bytes reprimands him where have you been what have you been doing that hits home with me with the pathos of true love desperation scorn the transitory delicate balance of it all.
When Bytes sneaks in with the Sonny Jim crowd he doesn’t compel those whores to taunt Merrick out of malice but as a diversionary tactic to subsequently spirit him away. And what we’re left with is the fading away of Bytes. Of a way of life. The freakshow circuit carny refuse aesthetically in Lynch’s hands is a dreamworld delight. His industrial age never better a fit for his industrial sound design. So much to enjoy. The sound design is everything from the grinding anguish ambience of elephant eardrum pounding growl to the rumbling churning alleys and hospital bowels boilers clock mechanisms all honed blended and painted by none other than you guessed it. Alan Splet. And Lynch himself.
Finally how visceral are the scenes incidental to the foreground plot like the machine accident victim’s skin peeled off being operated on. Or the two tarts in the hospital waiting room whose faces are torn off from clawing at each other amidst a wild mob seeming to feed off of it—as a distraction for my boy Bytes to sneak in. Man he really gravitates toward has a knack of finding the nasty. But alas light and dark. When Merrick goes to the theater that Dziga Vertov montage proves this kind of subjective childlike angel pure wonder Lynch bestows him can only come from one who knows the only answer is love.
The first seventy-five minutes are palace intrigue. World building. Again Alan Splet’s sound design is maybe the best work done in any movie ever made here. You don’t just watch Dune. You jam it. Wind roars. Sandworms roar. Mechanisms buzz and drone. Nightmares howl flames that sound like you’re right next to a flag flapping in a thousand mile an hour gale.
When Paul and Jessica land on Arrakis things get really fun. Plotwise there is zero conflict in Dune. Remember how Paul is torn upon hearing his father is going to die? And when his mother tells him his father is dead Paul says “I know.” And that’s it. A protagonist usually has to overcome something. Has to have skin in the game. Something to lose but why? Why not just play the Kwisatz Haderach’s ascension for all it's worth? Crush any ops. Paul doesn’t let anything get him down. That’s a hero. Specifically in movies I mean.
Call me as sap but the Toto “Big Battle” anthem moves me to rapturous joy. Its rousing refrain gains momentum as we build to the film’s climax. Riding sandworms. Controlling the spice. Controlling the sandworms. Defeating the Harkonnens. Jackson-Tolkien energy for the art film crowd. When Alia perforates the bloated Baron and he spins out of control up and away through a hole from an explosion in the palace walls and she runs outside the look of ecstasy on her child face arms outstretched with that bloody dagger is the perfect close to this Atreides victory propaganda machine.
Lynch doing huge battle scenes was this a dream? Lynch doing a movie where good triumphs over evil the hero saves the world and everyone lives happily ever after? Accept the mystery. Turn up the volume and immerse yourself in the deafening explosive tumultuous onslaught of all that is sandworm.
When Paul and Jessica land on Arrakis things get really fun. Plotwise there is zero conflict in Dune. Remember how Paul is torn upon hearing his father is going to die? And when his mother tells him his father is dead Paul says “I know.” And that’s it. A protagonist usually has to overcome something. Has to have skin in the game. Something to lose but why? Why not just play the Kwisatz Haderach’s ascension for all it's worth? Crush any ops. Paul doesn’t let anything get him down. That’s a hero. Specifically in movies I mean.
Call me as sap but the Toto “Big Battle” anthem moves me to rapturous joy. Its rousing refrain gains momentum as we build to the film’s climax. Riding sandworms. Controlling the spice. Controlling the sandworms. Defeating the Harkonnens. Jackson-Tolkien energy for the art film crowd. When Alia perforates the bloated Baron and he spins out of control up and away through a hole from an explosion in the palace walls and she runs outside the look of ecstasy on her child face arms outstretched with that bloody dagger is the perfect close to this Atreides victory propaganda machine.
Lynch doing huge battle scenes was this a dream? Lynch doing a movie where good triumphs over evil the hero saves the world and everyone lives happily ever after? Accept the mystery. Turn up the volume and immerse yourself in the deafening explosive tumultuous onslaught of all that is sandworm.
These two movies are connected. Think about that scene in The Elephant Man that pans down that alley in London the camera motivated by tracking that English bulldog and ends on a bunch of dudes operating what I can only describe as thumpers? And how at the very beginning of Dune in that first shot in the Emperor's palace on Kaitain there's those dudes walking nine English bulldogs?
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