JOLLY DAYS

Wild At Heart

David Lynch's 1990 Wild At Heart is emblematic of Lynch's approach to movies. With an innate sense of visceral, sensuous imagery, and very little story sense, or ability to convey emotional content through character development, the movies of his which I have seen have all felt, in retrospect, like a string of powerful moments; not psychological moments, but a series of engrossing icons strung together, each with a meaning that is private and unavailable, but potent. Rhythm-less and contracted, his movies grab you, fascinate you, but give you nothing.

Lynch needs someone to hand him material that has a strong story-line — his eccentric take on things would work well as variations off of an engrossing story. Lynch, in the interviews on the DVD, has a parson's restraint — he seems a Puritan with a Las Vegas fantasy life. Lynch's perfectionism, obsessiveness, bullheadedness, and belief in his material carry the movie finally.

Also of note on these commentaries, once again: the extreme deference, even reverence, the cast crew producers and anyone lucky enough to be in a Hollywood movie exudes about the director; they can't say enough good things about this guy. Even the writer of the novel upon which the movie was based and rewritten for film by Lynch is deferential and decorous to an astonishing extent. You would think the novelist would say, well, Dave changed some things from the book, but I felt my presentation more fully worked. Instead you hear, Well, David was right to change that for the film. If it was right for the book, why not the film?

Lynch's movies make you feel as though you have made the wrong turn on a city street and find yourself surrounded by the inhabitants of a mental hospital — your big job is to get out of there in one piece by assessing which of these are harmless nuts and which true psychos. There wasn't a single character that didn't seem Fedexed directly from a mental ward, after first being filtered for any sign of intelligence.

If Lynch could establish some sense of normalcy the shocking imagery would work better — it would have some human grounding. That's how nightmare's work, and that is what Lynch is giving us, without moral concern or empathy for character or audience; his own personal hell.