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| Curtains Drawn and Lights Out – An Introduction to David Lynch |
Watching cult TV shows can seriously damage your health…
Someone once told me that when experiencing art you should look for the seemingly innocuous things - the things
not directly linked to the subject of the painting or the photograph, the things not directly linked to the central plot of
the movie or novel – the little things that on first look do not matter but on closer inspection create a sense of
wonder and mystery. In other words - reading between the lines… at least, I think that’s what she was on about…
You can get that all the time. WALKING past a beautiful lamppost….NOTICING the way the sun light glints on the
gutter drain while someone is beaten to death…THINKING about how you’re going to pay the bills…
Err, well, anyway, applying this fairly loose and vague method I began to wonder about examples from art that I had
experienced and appreciated. The trace of my thoughts kept on coming back to the same films, the same director –
David Lynch. Probably the closest thing America has to a European style auteur Lynch has created some of the
most compelling and strangest cinema of the last thirty years. Movies such as Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Lost
Highway and Mulholland Drive are born out of a mind steeped in surreal imagery. While narrative and plot play their
part Lynch’s world is a dreamlike place, a realm of the subconscious where seemingly important things can mean
nothing and where the smallest details can mean everything. As almost every commentator on Lynch’s films has
noted, nothing is what it seems.
My first introduction to the world of Lynch came one Christmas holiday when I was around 16. This will sound a bit
like a drugs habit confessional, but if that’s the way it’s going to be then so be it. A friend of mine had recently
bought both series of Lynch’s (written with Mark Frost) culter than cult TV show Twin Peaks on video (these were
pre DVD days, when men were men and geeks were geeks and women were from a different planet) and suggested
that we watched it round his with a couple of friends. The whole thing. Without sleep. Only stopping for essential
toilet and snack breaks. Now for anyone unaware of the series (and surely there can’t be many who have not at
least heard of it) let me assure you that even watching one episode can be a uniquely weird experience. My friend
was suggesting that we watch all 29. He had already seen the whole thing when it had originally aired on TV, but for
me this was a voyage into the unknown. Did people do this sort of thing for fun? I mean the whole proposition
sounded like some sort of psychological experiment that was abruptly discontinued in the 1960’s due to ‘things
going wrong’.
I said sure, why not? I had never seen any of it before, I was intrigued and what else would I be doing? (Hmm,
perhaps something less heroically sad?) So for 30+ hours we watched all 29 episodes, as well as the European
pilot and Fire Walk With Me (the undeservedly criticised prequel movie) fuelled only by coffee, cigarettes and the
obligatory cherry pie. One of my friends, who clearly had far too much time on his hands, even made a wall chart
detailing major character and plot developments…oh the humanity!
It soon became apparent that this viewing experience was going to have more than a hint of ritual about it. My friend
wanted to make sure that everything was just right for fully entering into the spirit of the series. So the coffee was
‘damn fine’ and the pie was hot. Also, (less Twin Peaksian this) he put the TV through his Dad’s Hi-Fi speakers.
Now, these details are important. Throughout the series Lynch and Frost use visual motifs and little hooks to keep
the audience in the swing of things. I could go onto a fan-site and find out how many times Special Agent Dale
Cooper appreciates coffee and pie, but I don’t think I will. Statistics are not important but details are…
So in our own little way we were creating a link between ourselves the audience and the artistic creation that was on
show. I have no doubt that the small amount of effort it took to add these details to our time made all the difference.
Of course, if you’re watching something for 1 and a half days curtains drawn and lights out you’re bound to get a
little into it.
I won’t go into what happens in the programme – it would take far too long to explain all the twists, turns and red
herrings of the plot. To begin with it concerns the investigation into the shocking murder of all-American town
favourite Laura Palmer. This, however barely scratches the surface with what the series is really about. I will say
that it contains plenty of dark humour, detective work, violence (psychological and physical) 50’s style teen
romance, esoteric mythology, a man with one arm and a scarlet-suited dwarf talking backwards. Now what more
could you possibly want?
The first series (consisting of eight episodes) came and went and everyone was fine. The coffee was still flowing
and there had been no freak-outs. A few more friends came round, expressed bemusement at what we attempting
to do and then left. They wanted to go out! They wanted to socialise! We didn’t trust them…
Around about Episode 15 - when Laura’s killer is finally revealed – things began to get a little odd... First of all one
of my friends – let’s call him George – went to the toilet and did not come back for a long time. Perhaps as much as
fifteen whole minutes. It’s difficult to be sure, time had begun to melt.
When George finally emerged he looked deathly pale and his eyes were wild. ‘What’s up, George?’ someone
asked. ‘I saw something…something in the mirror…something’s not right…’ When we tried to question him further
he would just mumble ‘not right’. We went back to the TV.
Not long after this George went home. We never saw him again… (No, not really. A few days later he was in the pub
and said that he had just been ‘a little tired’).
Obviously this incident had serious repercussions for the rest of the marathon, not least when the tracking on one
of the tapes went awry. Getting to grips with technical problems on audio-visual devices has never been a strong
point of mine, particularly after being glued to the screen for 20 hours. One of the other guys, Richard, threw a
strop complaining about ‘inferior equipment’ and went home. He had had enough. Only the hardcore remained.
Thankfully my friend managed to get the video working again and we were set. . And that’s when an acquaintance
of ours, known locally as ‘Badger’ came round. ‘Badger’ was a strange boy by anyone’s standards. He wore self-
made suits to school. He carried a briefcase. He dyed his hair pink. He spoke in a weird Jamaican patois despite
coming from Surrey. Why he was called Badger I never found out, but I don’t think the reason was entirely pleasant
or wholesome.
So Badger was there with the rest of us and he was out of his mind on some god-awful combination of lighter fluid,
super Strongbow and cough syrup. His usual good-natured, hyperactive self had been replaced by some stoned
prophet, - constantly intoning monotonously about the ‘apocalypse’. This guy had to go. We told him we would
meet him in the pub in half an hour – we just wanted to watch one more. Little did he know that there were six
episodes left plus the season finale and prequel movie. He went, after vomiting in my friend’s kitchen.
And so it continued. We watched on, unrelenting. Not speaking, not moving – transfixed to the screen and utterly
immersed in a work of twisted and beautiful imagination. When we made it to the end and heard Angelo Badalamenti’
s music on the closing credits for the last time I turned to my friend and said quite simply ‘I need to sleep.’ I don’t
think that I had ever uttered a statement with such honesty and conviction as I had at that moment. I went home and
my dreams were bathed in fire.
So my first experience of Lynch’s canon was unusual to say the least. It certainly made a big impression on me,
although the sleep deprivation, caffeine and mind bending images that were on offer may well have contributed…
What was apparent to me and what sticks in my mind is that it was the details, the little things, (both in the series
and in the viewing environment) that made the experience a memorable one.
And now over a decade later I await the release of the second series on DVD (hopefully Spring 2006) with breath
verging on the baited so that I can do the whole thing again. On second thoughts maybe I’ll just watch it like normal
folk do.
Robert Monk
Someone once told me that when experiencing art you should look for the seemingly innocuous things - the things
not directly linked to the subject of the painting or the photograph, the things not directly linked to the central plot of
the movie or novel – the little things that on first look do not matter but on closer inspection create a sense of
wonder and mystery. In other words - reading between the lines… at least, I think that’s what she was on about…
You can get that all the time. WALKING past a beautiful lamppost….NOTICING the way the sun light glints on the
gutter drain while someone is beaten to death…THINKING about how you’re going to pay the bills…
Err, well, anyway, applying this fairly loose and vague method I began to wonder about examples from art that I had
experienced and appreciated. The trace of my thoughts kept on coming back to the same films, the same director –
David Lynch. Probably the closest thing America has to a European style auteur Lynch has created some of the
most compelling and strangest cinema of the last thirty years. Movies such as Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Lost
Highway and Mulholland Drive are born out of a mind steeped in surreal imagery. While narrative and plot play their
part Lynch’s world is a dreamlike place, a realm of the subconscious where seemingly important things can mean
nothing and where the smallest details can mean everything. As almost every commentator on Lynch’s films has
noted, nothing is what it seems.
My first introduction to the world of Lynch came one Christmas holiday when I was around 16. This will sound a bit
like a drugs habit confessional, but if that’s the way it’s going to be then so be it. A friend of mine had recently
bought both series of Lynch’s (written with Mark Frost) culter than cult TV show Twin Peaks on video (these were
pre DVD days, when men were men and geeks were geeks and women were from a different planet) and suggested
that we watched it round his with a couple of friends. The whole thing. Without sleep. Only stopping for essential
toilet and snack breaks. Now for anyone unaware of the series (and surely there can’t be many who have not at
least heard of it) let me assure you that even watching one episode can be a uniquely weird experience. My friend
was suggesting that we watch all 29. He had already seen the whole thing when it had originally aired on TV, but for
me this was a voyage into the unknown. Did people do this sort of thing for fun? I mean the whole proposition
sounded like some sort of psychological experiment that was abruptly discontinued in the 1960’s due to ‘things
going wrong’.
I said sure, why not? I had never seen any of it before, I was intrigued and what else would I be doing? (Hmm,
perhaps something less heroically sad?) So for 30+ hours we watched all 29 episodes, as well as the European
pilot and Fire Walk With Me (the undeservedly criticised prequel movie) fuelled only by coffee, cigarettes and the
obligatory cherry pie. One of my friends, who clearly had far too much time on his hands, even made a wall chart
detailing major character and plot developments…oh the humanity!
It soon became apparent that this viewing experience was going to have more than a hint of ritual about it. My friend
wanted to make sure that everything was just right for fully entering into the spirit of the series. So the coffee was
‘damn fine’ and the pie was hot. Also, (less Twin Peaksian this) he put the TV through his Dad’s Hi-Fi speakers.
Now, these details are important. Throughout the series Lynch and Frost use visual motifs and little hooks to keep
the audience in the swing of things. I could go onto a fan-site and find out how many times Special Agent Dale
Cooper appreciates coffee and pie, but I don’t think I will. Statistics are not important but details are…
So in our own little way we were creating a link between ourselves the audience and the artistic creation that was on
show. I have no doubt that the small amount of effort it took to add these details to our time made all the difference.
Of course, if you’re watching something for 1 and a half days curtains drawn and lights out you’re bound to get a
little into it.
I won’t go into what happens in the programme – it would take far too long to explain all the twists, turns and red
herrings of the plot. To begin with it concerns the investigation into the shocking murder of all-American town
favourite Laura Palmer. This, however barely scratches the surface with what the series is really about. I will say
that it contains plenty of dark humour, detective work, violence (psychological and physical) 50’s style teen
romance, esoteric mythology, a man with one arm and a scarlet-suited dwarf talking backwards. Now what more
could you possibly want?
The first series (consisting of eight episodes) came and went and everyone was fine. The coffee was still flowing
and there had been no freak-outs. A few more friends came round, expressed bemusement at what we attempting
to do and then left. They wanted to go out! They wanted to socialise! We didn’t trust them…
Around about Episode 15 - when Laura’s killer is finally revealed – things began to get a little odd... First of all one
of my friends – let’s call him George – went to the toilet and did not come back for a long time. Perhaps as much as
fifteen whole minutes. It’s difficult to be sure, time had begun to melt.
When George finally emerged he looked deathly pale and his eyes were wild. ‘What’s up, George?’ someone
asked. ‘I saw something…something in the mirror…something’s not right…’ When we tried to question him further
he would just mumble ‘not right’. We went back to the TV.
Not long after this George went home. We never saw him again… (No, not really. A few days later he was in the pub
and said that he had just been ‘a little tired’).
Obviously this incident had serious repercussions for the rest of the marathon, not least when the tracking on one
of the tapes went awry. Getting to grips with technical problems on audio-visual devices has never been a strong
point of mine, particularly after being glued to the screen for 20 hours. One of the other guys, Richard, threw a
strop complaining about ‘inferior equipment’ and went home. He had had enough. Only the hardcore remained.
Thankfully my friend managed to get the video working again and we were set. . And that’s when an acquaintance
of ours, known locally as ‘Badger’ came round. ‘Badger’ was a strange boy by anyone’s standards. He wore self-
made suits to school. He carried a briefcase. He dyed his hair pink. He spoke in a weird Jamaican patois despite
coming from Surrey. Why he was called Badger I never found out, but I don’t think the reason was entirely pleasant
or wholesome.
So Badger was there with the rest of us and he was out of his mind on some god-awful combination of lighter fluid,
super Strongbow and cough syrup. His usual good-natured, hyperactive self had been replaced by some stoned
prophet, - constantly intoning monotonously about the ‘apocalypse’. This guy had to go. We told him we would
meet him in the pub in half an hour – we just wanted to watch one more. Little did he know that there were six
episodes left plus the season finale and prequel movie. He went, after vomiting in my friend’s kitchen.
And so it continued. We watched on, unrelenting. Not speaking, not moving – transfixed to the screen and utterly
immersed in a work of twisted and beautiful imagination. When we made it to the end and heard Angelo Badalamenti’
s music on the closing credits for the last time I turned to my friend and said quite simply ‘I need to sleep.’ I don’t
think that I had ever uttered a statement with such honesty and conviction as I had at that moment. I went home and
my dreams were bathed in fire.
So my first experience of Lynch’s canon was unusual to say the least. It certainly made a big impression on me,
although the sleep deprivation, caffeine and mind bending images that were on offer may well have contributed…
What was apparent to me and what sticks in my mind is that it was the details, the little things, (both in the series
and in the viewing environment) that made the experience a memorable one.
And now over a decade later I await the release of the second series on DVD (hopefully Spring 2006) with breath
verging on the baited so that I can do the whole thing again. On second thoughts maybe I’ll just watch it like normal
folk do.
Robert Monk
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