{"id":122799,"date":"2018-03-20T09:00:45","date_gmt":"2018-03-20T13:00:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=122799"},"modified":"2018-03-22T15:37:04","modified_gmt":"2018-03-22T19:37:04","slug":"david-lynchs-night-truths","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/03\/20\/david-lynchs-night-truths\/","title":{"rendered":"David Lynch\u2019s Night Truths"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I saw David Lynch\u2019s first feature film, Eraserhead<\/em>, at a midnight showing at the Pittsburgh Playhouse in early 1981, it blew my seventeen-year-old mind in ways I have yet to recover from. Twin Peaks <\/em>forever rewired the circuitry of the apparatus I use to scan and interpret American life. And I\u2019m just going to totally nerd out and confess that I\u2019ve seen Lynch\u2019s 1983 adaptation of one of my favorite novels, Frank Herbert\u2019s Dune<\/em>, at least five times and never failed to totally dig it.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo see what is in front of one\u2019s nose,\u201d George Orwell said, \u201cneeds a constant struggle.\u201d Think about that. To see what is in front of one\u2019s nose needs a constant struggle. Traumatized, perhaps, by the unremitting grim truths of evolution and human history, the human mind\u2014that ancient, dubious assemblage of learned and inherent biases, habits of sensory triage, and cognitive rules of thumb\u2014has become resistant to truth. This doubtful gift of being able to ignore the cold, hard, cheerless facts of existence allows us, as individuals and as nations, to be continually surprised by calamities, defeats, and disasters that in hindsight ought to have been\u2014were\u2014obvious all along. When the ice caps melt and the lowlands flood and species collapse and Earth turns inhospitable, those who survive will look back and say, How could they have missed this? How could they not have known? Wasn\u2019t it obvious? And the answer, of course, will be, It needs a constant struggle to see what is in front of one\u2019s nose. A constant struggle: who has the strength, or the time, for that? Those among us who are equal to that struggle we call prophets, and in general we treat such people very shabbily.<\/p>\n

And that\u2019s just when it comes to the plain truths, the indisputable data, the behaviors that speak for themselves. If seeing even those things requires constant struggle, what about the ambiguities? What about the hidden truths, the buried drives and desires? The things that lie beyond distant doorways, behind the curtains of dreams, deep in the sea-bottoms of memory? Who\u2019s going to see all that while you\u2019re busy looking just past the Orwellian tip of your nose?<\/p>\n

Over the past half century, no one has taken a harder, clearer look behind those doors, beyond those curtains, and into those deep oceans than David Lynch. \u201cMy childhood,\u201d Lynch has famously said, \u201cwas elegant homes, tree-lined streets, the milkman, building backyard forts, droning airplanes, blue skies, picket fences, green grass, cherry trees. Middle America as it\u2019s supposed to be. But on the cherry tree there\u2019s this pitch oozing out\u2014some black, some yellow\u2014and millions of red ants crawling all over it. I discovered that if one looks a little closer at this beautiful world, there are always red ants underneath.\u201d<\/p>\n

To see the ooze and the swarm, the weird in the everyday, the horror just beneath the ordinary surface of things, the freak show in the supermarket, and, even more powerfully, to find dark beauty in that freakiness and horror\u2014I want to extend Orwell\u2019s dictum and say that this, too, needs a constant struggle. And yet, that isn\u2019t really true. The moments when we manage to see what\u2019s in front of our noses\u2014say, the racism and misogyny that undergird our most powerful institutions\u2014are rare, and hard-won. Some of us never manage those moments at all. But each of us\u2014even those who might walk past that cherry tree a hundred times and never see the raging boil of ants, even those of us who try to maintain a healthy distance between ourselves and the freaks and the horrors\u2014every single one of us slips into the weird with astonishing freedom, every single night of our lives, and it requires no struggle at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn dreams,\u201d Roy Orbison sings, so memorably, on the soundtrack of Blue Velvet. <\/em>In our nightly dreams\u2014our dark, beautiful, horrifying dreams\u2014we are all David Lynch. Our gaze is unflinching and patient and curious, uncensored, reporting back dispassionately on the blue-velvet violence of our thoughts and the deeply strange organ that thinks them. In dreams, once we\u2019ve been visited by that candy-colored clown they call the sandman, as Orbison Lynchesquely put it, we all gaze without flinching through the depths of our darkest fears and wishes, behind the curtains and doorways of the daytime rationalizations and evasions and taboos.<\/p>\n

That part\u2019s easy; the struggle comes when someone tries to wrestle those night truths, into the light. I\u2019m not talking about the use of forced perspective, Dutch angles, overreliance on dwarfs and shadow puppets and talking animals and all the other conventions that artists\u2014including David Lynch\u2014have employed over the years in an ultimately doomed attempted to capture the \u201cdreaminess\u201d of dreams. To be honest, I kind of hate that stuff. I\u2019m the guy who fast-forwards through dream sequences in movies and skips to the end of dream paragraphs in books. The truth of a dream is not in its dreamlike quality: the truth of a dream is a tree bleeding ants, a night truth oozing through into the waking world, unseen not because of our vanity or self-delusion or fear but because we spend so much of our waking lives sleepwalking, eyes open but blind to the weirdness of the waking world, preserved by the saving hand of repression from anything that might come along and give us a dangerous shake. We call the people who try to jolt us out of our somnambulism artists, and in general we don\u2019t treat them a whole lot better than we do our prophets.<\/p>\n

For the past forty years, David Lynch has been shaking us with his art, aiming our gazes to the night truths of the world, to the truth of our dreams, violent and dark and beautiful as that truth may be.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Michael Chabon lives in Berkeley, California.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  When I saw David Lynch\u2019s first feature film, Eraserhead, at a midnight showing at the Pittsburgh Playhouse in early 1981, it blew my seventeen-year-old mind in ways I have yet to recover from. Twin Peaks forever rewired the circuitry of the apparatus I use to scan and interpret American life. And I\u2019m just going […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1186],"tags":[13748,2633,13747,4840,33352,6688],"class_list":["post-122799","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-on-film","tag-blue-velvet","tag-david-lynch","tag-eraserhead","tag-george-orwell","tag-roy-orbison","tag-twin-peaks"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nDavid Lynch\u2019s Night Truths<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Lynch sees the ooze and the swarm, the weird in the everyday, the horror just beneath the ordinary surface of things, the freak show in the supermarket, and, even more powerfully, he finds the dark beauty in that horror.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" 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