We’re Lucky to Have Been Alive in the Age of David Lynch

 

David Lynch at his studio in Los Angeles on March 15, 2002

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Cigarettes, coffee, and candy. According to legend—and those who knew him—these were the staples that fueled David Lynch, the substances powering the cosmic swirl of ideas that leapt from his mind to the screen. None of these indulgences, especially in excess, are good for us. Cigarettes, in particular, are deadly: Lynch, who struggled to quit for most of his life, was diagnosed with emphysema in 2020. He used his experience to urge others to kick the habit, offering his story as a cautionary tale. Of course, cigarettes don’t make you a genius—nor do coffee or M&Ms. But Lynch’s affinity for these habits became part of his lore, earthly markers of his brilliant, oddball spirit. They were like tools scattered on the workbench of a recently departed artisan.

No one thought, saw, or created like Lynch. Early in his career, his singular vision was so distinct that “Lynchian” entered the lexicon as an adjective. While he inspired countless filmmakers, Lynch remained inimitable. No one was more Lynchian than David Lynch.

If you were in high school or college in the late 1970s or early 1980s, you likely heard of Lynch’s hypnotic black-and-white debut, Eraserhead, even if you hadn’t seen it. Stories about the film—a lady with puffy, cauliflower-like cheeks living in a radiator, or a deformed, oozing baby—either drove you to seek it out or left you hesitating, unsure if you could handle it. (That was me—though I eventually corrected my mistake.)

Lynch’s work often felt intimidating, but once you surrendered to its charm, strangeness, and unsettling allure, you craved more. He made the bizarre seem ordinary and the mundane feel surreal. To this day, I can’t walk through steam rising from a city grate without thinking of him.

Born in Missoula, Montana, in 1946, Lynch initially pursued painting, studying at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. While there, he made his first short film in 1967. He later moved to Los Angeles, enrolling at the AFI Conservatory, where Eraserhead was conceived and created. The film caught the attention of Mel Brooks, who hired Lynch to direct The Elephant Man (1980), a Victorian drama based on the life of Joseph Merrick. Though one of Lynch’s most accessible films, its haunting, poetic visuals remain distinctly his.

Lynch’s career was marked by highs and risks. His adaptation of Frank Herbert’s Dune (1984) was a critical and commercial disappointment but later gained cult status. In 1990, Lynch revolutionized television with Twin Peaks, starring Kyle MacLachlan as Agent Dale Cooper, who investigates the murder of high schooler Laura Palmer in a quirky, sinister small town. The show’s surreal mystery captivated audiences and redefined what TV could be. Lynch revisited the story in 2017’s Twin Peaks: The Return, set 25 years later.

Between these milestones, Lynch explored a wide array of projects: from the wild romance of Wild at Heart (1990) to the hypnotic noir of Lost Highway (1997), to a dreamy commercial for Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium (1992). Even his lesser works often outshone other directors’ best efforts.

Choosing Lynch’s greatest films is nearly impossible. How could you exclude the heartbreaking Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (1992) or the poignant The Straight Story (1999), about an elderly man driving a tractor across states to reconcile with his dying brother? But Blue Velvet (1986) stands out for its transformative impact. Kyle MacLachlan stars as Jeffrey Beaumont, a naïve young man who discovers a severed ear and becomes entangled with nightclub singer Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini) and the depraved Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper). Seductive, disturbing, and utterly captivating, the film rewires your perception of cinema.

Then came Mulholland Dr. (2001), a puzzle-box tale of two aspiring actresses (Naomi Watts and Laura Harring) in a dreamlike Hollywood that hides a darker, seedy underbelly. A condemnation of greed and dishonesty, it also celebrated the city’s allure—its mansions, legends, and the fantasy that a small-town girl could still become a star. Lynch’s fascination with Hollywood’s duality made the film unforgettable.

Lynch captured the essence of America—its kindness, optimism, and big dreams, alongside its hidden fears and hypocrisies. His work embraced the beauty of trees and birdsong, the perfection of blue skies and white picket fences, but never shied away from probing the shadows beneath.

In Blue Velvet, Laura Dern’s Sandy marvels at the sight of a robin with a bug in its beak: “It’s a strange world, isn’t it?” she says with a smile, embracing the world’s contradictions. Lynch’s work embodied that spirit, offering us the courage to face the strangeness of our times and reminding us of the beauty in living through it. We’re lucky to have been alive in the age of Lynch.

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