The Strange World of David Lynch: Transcendental Irony from Eraserhead to Mulholland Dr.

Anyone who has sat through the dark and grainy world of Eraserhead knows that David Lynch's fi lms pull us into a strange world where reality turns upside down and sideways. His fi lms are carnivals that allow us to transcend our ordinary lives and to reverse the meanings we live with in our daily lives. Nowhere is this demonstrated better than in the opening scene of Blue Velvet when our worlds are literally turned on their ears. Lynch endlessly vacillates between Hollywood conventions and avant-garde experimentation, placing viewers in the awkward position of not knowing when the image is serious and when it's in jest, when meaning is lucid or when it's lost. His vexed style in this way places form and content in a perpetually self-consuming dialogue. But what do Lynch's fi lms have to do with religion? Wilson aims to answer that question in his new book, The Strange World of David Lynch. To say that irony (especially of the kind found in Lynch's fi lms) generates religious experience is to suggest religious can be founded on nihilism. Moreover, in claiming Lynch's fi lms are religious, one must assume that extremely violent and lurid sexual films are somehow expressions of energies of peace, tranquility, and love. Wilson illuminates not only Lynch's fi lm but also the study of religion and fi lm by showing that the most profound cinematic experiences of religion have very little to do with traditional belief systems. His book offers fresh ways of connecting the cinematic image to the sacred experience. Anyone who has sat through the dark and grainy world of Eraserhead knows that David Lynch's fi lms pull us into a strange world where reality turns upside down and sideways. His fi lms are carnivals that allow us to transcend our ordinary lives and to reverse the meanings we live with in our daily lives. Nowhere is this demonstrated better than in the opening scene of Blue Velvet when our worlds are literally turned on their ears. Lynch endlessly vacillates between Hollywood conventions and avant-garde experimentation, placing viewers in the awkward position of not knowing when the image is serious and when it's in jest, when meaning is lucid or when it's lost. His vexed style in this way places form and content in a perpetually self-consuming dialogue. But what do Lynch's fi lms have to do with religion? Wilson aims to answer that question in his new book, The Strange World of David Lynch. To say that irony (especially of the kind found in Lynch's fi lms) generates religious experience is to suggest religious can be founded on nihilism. Moreover, in claiming Lynch's fi lms are religious, one must assume that extremely violent and lurid sexual films are somehow expressions of energies of peace, tranquility, and love. Wilson illuminates not only Lynch's fi lm but also the study of religion and fi lm by showing that the most profound cinematic experiences of religion have very little to do with traditional belief systems. His book offers fresh ways of connecting the cinematic image to the sacred experience. Anyone who has watched Blue Velvet or experienced the dark and grainy world of Eraserhead knows that David Lynch's films pull us into a strange world where reality turns upside down and sideways. Lynch's films place form and content in a perpetually self-consuming dialogue, as he vacillates endlessly between Hollywood conventions and avant-garde experimentation, placing viewers in the awkward position of not knowing when the image is serious and when it's in jest, whether the meaning is lucid or if it's been irrevocably lost.

Irony exists in the gap between appearance and reality. In The Strange World of David Lynch, Eric G. Wilson, posits that Lynch, through his frequent use of irony, unsettles traditional ideologies and throws viewers into a relentless interpretive limbo. Focusing in particular on Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, Lost Highway and Mulholland Dr., Wilson argues that Lynch's films are transcendental-pushing audiences into that borderland between equally valid, though thoroughly opposed, interpretations. By drawing viewers into this realm, these extraordinary films invite ideas of a healing third term, a figure of synthesis that approximates traditional notions of self or soul. Hence, Lynch's pictures are, in this rather idiosyncratic fashion, religious. The Strange World of David Lynch argues that the films of this remarkable director are lessons in how to escape the willful laws of society's demiurges and in how to participate in seemingly infinite possibility.

About the Author:
Eric G. Wilson is the Thomas H. Pritchard Professor of English at Wake Forest University

Anyone who has sat through the dark and grainy world of Eraserhead knows that David Lynch's fi lms pull us into a strange world where reality turns upside down and sideways. His fi lms are carnivals that allow us to transcend our ordinary lives and to reverse the meanings we live with in our daily lives. Nowhere is this demonstrated better than in the opening scene of Blue Velvet when our worlds are literally turned on their ears.

Lynch endlessly vacillates between Hollywood conventions and avant-garde experimentation, placing viewers in the awkward position of not knowing when the image is serious and when it's in jest, when meaning is lucid or when it's lost. His vexed style in this way places form and content in a perpetually self-consuming dialogue. But what do Lynch's fi lms have to do with religion? Wilson aims to answer that question in his new book, The Strange World of David Lynch.

To say that irony (especially of the kind found in Lynch's fi lms) generates religious experience is to suggest religious can be founded on nihilism. Moreover, in claiming Lynch's fi lms are religious, one must assume that extremely violent and lurid sexual films are somehow expressions of energies of peace, tranquility, and love. Wilson illuminates not only Lynch's fi lm but also the study of religion and fi lm by showing that the most profound cinematic experiences of religion have very little to do with traditional belief systems. His book offers fresh ways of connecting the cinematic image to the sacred experience.

Lynch's films place form and content in a perpetually self-consuming dialogue, as he vacillates endlessly between Hollywood conventions and avant-garde experimentation, placing viewers in the awkward position of not knowing when the image is serious and when it's in jest, whether the meaning is lucid or if it's been irrevocably lost. Irony exists in the gap between appearance and reality. The author posits that Lynch, through his frequent use of irony, unsettles traditional ideologies and throws viewers into a relentless interpretive limbo. Focusing in particular on Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, Lost Highway and Mulholland Dr., the author argues that Lynch's films are transcendental-pushing audiences into that borderland between equally valid, though thoroughly opposed, interpretations. By drawing viewers into this realm, these films invite ideas of a healing third term, a figure of synthesis that approximates traditional notions of self or soul. Hence, Lynch's pictures are, in this rather idiosyncratic fashion, religious. The book argues that the films of this remarkable director are lessons in how to escape the willful laws of society's demiurges and in how to participate in seemingly infinite possibility.