David Lynch: RIP.
No director before or since has taken his audience deeper into the mysteries of the human condition.
In the hullabaloo over Jimmy Carter's death, Donald Trump's inauguration, and the LA fires, we almost forgot the significance of one man’s passing: David Lynch. In honor of his passing, I have re-released two early Crotty Farm Reports, which examine key aspects of his films.
Inimitable, dark, beyond unique, Lynch defines the auteur. He is among the top twenty directors who ever lived. In films like Mulholland Drive, Eraserhead, and Blue Velvet, Lynch took viewers deeper into the subconscious than any director before or since. It might be said that he took film itself as far as it could go in unraveling the mysteries of the human condition.
Surreal, unknowable, and quixotic, Lynch’s films challenge us to risk going deeper into the mystery of life—to risk it all––to get at the truth, yet the benign unknowability, of existence. David Lynch: RIP.
Sometimes a buggy: the cowboy herald in Mulholland Drive still speaks to us today.
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