Eraserhead: A Masterpiece of 70's Cinema

One film screening that will always stick to me like sickeningly sweet candy is David Lynch's Eraserhead. Lynch's penchant to remain tight-mouthed about any questions raised by critics and fans is both infuriating and satisfying. In fact, part of what makes Eraserhead so fascinating is its impenetrability, where the answers lie just out of reach.

My reason behind writing this is to defend Eraserhead's status as a masterpiece of cinema and eradicate any claims of it being nothing but incoherent trash. Having found a wider audience and more acceptance in the recent years of blu-ray releases (especially on Criterion), this film is finally receiving the kind of recognition it deserves as a masterpiece and historically important cinematic achievement. Eraserhead has been praised and condemned by audiences and critics alike, and it can hardly be called an accessible film. Nonetheless, it is a work of startling originality.

In order to accept it on its most basic level, Eraserhead is a surreal representation of a nightmare. Rarely has a film so successfully captured the ambience and feeling of a disturbing dream. Most virgin viewers feel a sense of strong discomfort due to the absence of familiarity in the Eraserhead world. This feeling of dissociation can often be off putting, and for a film to create such a powerful dissociation from reality is a rarity indeed.

There is no denying the sheer power behind Lynch's filmmaking. Eraserhead is anything but forgettable—the imagery is consistently repulsive, often without being overtly grotesque. The atmosphere created in the film is like no other. Lynch effectively creates a world of his own, a reflection of the Henry's (and likely some of Lynch's) psyche.

An often overlooked aspect of Eraserhead is its ingenious sound design. The soundscape is a cacophony of white noise, buzzing and industrial machinery, a concept that would make its way into Lynch's next and much more accessible feature The Elephant Man. The marriage of sound and image produces something that comes across as fierce and unsettling. During those rare moments of absolute silence, the viewer is left with a very empty and eerie feeling. In some instances, namely the lovemaking scene between Henry and the "Beautiful Girl Across the Hall," miscellaneous tones and noises (all recorded by Lynch and coworker Alan Splet via unorthodox methods) are layered to form a melodic and soothing, almost angelic ambience providing a stark contrast to the droning soundscape.

"WTF?" says Henry.
And audiences.

In the midst of all the macabre lies a touch of ironic beauty. In the protagonist's radiator dwells a lady with chipmunk cheeks, appropriately billed as the "Lady in the Radiator." In the latter part of what is one of the most peculiarly chilling sequences ever presented on the silver screen, the Lady in the Radiator sings a sweet lullaby tune titled "In Heaven" (covered by over a dozen bands including "The Pixies"). Simultaneously dark and beautiful, this resonating melody can be interpreted as a beckoning toward death, or absolution for Henry.

Detractors have often criticized the film as being "weird for weird's sake." It is impossible to argue that this film is not "weird," but to merely dismiss its strangeness as a director's pretentious gimmick would be shortchanging yourself of a highly unique experience. Eraserhead is charged with universal human emotions of guilt, fear of responsibility, and themes of parenthood, reproduction, infanticide and death to name a few. Audiences who need be spoon-fed plot and theme will likely find Eraserhead a frustrating experience, but those willing to dig deeper below the surface will find it to be an immensely gratifying and unmatched trip into the dark depths of the subconscious psyche.

If you have never seen Eraserhead I strongly encourage you to do so, if not just for the experience in itself. If you have seen Eraserhead and hated it, you have my full understanding, but I hope after reading this you have the inclination to give this bizarro cult-classic another shot.

10/10: A fine example of damn near cinematic perfection.

NOTE: This is not so much a trailer as it is the display of the more-or-less famous and truly grotesque chicken scene.