EraserheadIt is said that someone who does not want to be hypnotized, will not be hypnotized, implying that to some extent, hypnosis is a choice, even if it is a subconscious one. Eraserhead is a rare film, because unlike so many films bound by narrative and rationale, this film is a journey into the subconscious, via image and sound, evoking a mood and involving the viewer in the experience by means of a subjective interpretation, which recalls a concept of filmmaking called "Cinéma Pur" (pure cinema). Watching Eraserhead is as much to "feel" the film as it is to see it.
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Eraserhead is a walk into the unknown and unknowable, filled with the anxieties that become paranoid schizophrenia that become madness. Or this could all be part of the abstraction that is the life of Henry Spencer (Jack Nance). His mind wanders and he sees things that defy reason. Are they real, as they could be in this world devoid of rationale? Are they the detritus of his mind slipping away? Trying to find an answer in Eraserhead is elusive, but it is the experience that is the reward. Watching this movie give the same disquiet that comes from wandering alone through dark, abandoned warehouses at two a.m, the clatter of chains and bottles against the rank odor of mildew and rust. Although Eraserhead is filled with abstract images that are difficult to categorize, nothing is without purpose or intent, and that the seemingly random events fold in on themselves, and in what would become a hallmark of David Lynch's body of work going forward, the interpretation lies with the viewer to a large extent. The film is saturated in the perpetual sound of howling wind--you feel a chill just watching it, and the creaks and moans of whatever rotting rust belt necropolis that Henry lives in creates a truly unfriendly atmosphere. And Henry's perpetual nervousness and unease coupled with the strange idiosyncrasies of his fiancee, Mary X (Charlotte Stewart) and in-laws-to-be present him as a latter-day Josef K., a Kafka-esque victim of neurosis approaching a terminal velocity of insanity. Certainly several other key images and motifs recur throughout the tale, notably the bizarre alien-like spawn of Mary's (and maybe Henry's), and of course the "erasers" composed of Henry's "head", which look so like his bizarre hairdo. And why erasers? Well, Henry is a printer, and his work is to produce something, a message. An eraser operates in opposition to his profession, and stands as a rebellion of his traditional life. Perhaps the mental image of an eraser is an internal rebellion, a repulsion against his sudden capture into domesticated life with his neurotic wife and her "almost baby". Speaking of which, the film begins with a ghostly emergence from Henry's mouth in the midst of a dream, one that resembles the nauseating spermatozoon-like creature that Mary would claim (to a point) is his...maybe it is, and maybe it represents some inner psychic emanation of his that he cannot or will not acknowledge.
David Lynch is a great evoker of the cinema, a channeler of emotions and thoughts that defy conventional logic. What Lynch achieves in his films--especially Eraserhead--is to instill within the viewer a mood, and that mood would certainly be discomfort at the least here. Achieving this is more difficult than it sounds; in order to unnerve, to truly fill the audience with a sense of unease, one must create a complete realm for us to become drawn into. To quote Carl Sagan, "If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." And as David Lynch's films which would follow Eraserhead prove is that the filmmaker operates best on the subconscious level, where logic is driven along the rails of dreams. This is not to suggest that the film is "illogical", so much as to emphasize that they subscribe to a methodology which is instinctual, and we repress our instincts as part of society by design, so that they may only re-emerge in the security of our slumber. "Hypnosis" comes from the Greek god, Hypnos, the god of sleep, as one who is hypnotized shares much in common with those who dream. In essence, Eraserhead is best experienced detached from a deductive, analytical approach foremost, which makes dissecting it paradoxically a challenge which is both fascinating and futile, since each viewer's reactions should be different. And that is the key: reactions. To describe Eraserhead by plot is little more than to describe the events in sequence, not in context. Describing how you feel and what you feel at the experience would be better, like how the ghostly form emerging from Henry's mouth at the beginning of the film (is it a soul?) imbues one with the sense of futility and defeat as Henry is plagued with in his nightmare realm, as he falters in the face of his escalating responsibilities. Eraserhead was David Lynch's first theatrical release, and it was a secret treasure for a long time, as if born to dwell in shadows. But this film is one that has become the quintessential midnight movie cult classic (though you're welcome to argue for Rocky Horror)--and it was a clarion call of a bold new vision in filmmaking that has influenced other filmmakers to follow, challenging boundaries and conventional storytelling. The film's inception was one of extreme effort, occupying several years of the filmmaker's life, but resulting in a wholly unique product. Myth and rumor also make up part of the mystique of Eraserhead. For instance, what is that "baby" actually? How was it made? And is there really a subliminal message in the film which triggers its mysterious grip on viewers? Something that has always struck me about Eraserhead is how for a film produced with minimal (but absolutely crucial) resources and by (at the time) a student filmmaker, it is amazingly crisp and fresh. This is a testament to Lynch's vivid aesthetic and talent at captivating an image with an artist's eye, and maintaining that consistently throughout the picture. Eraserhead crawls under your skin. Just watch it alone at night, the shades drawn, the lights dimmed, maybe a poorly wired lamp flickering shadows against the wall. Then just try to go to sleep alone.
Recommended for: Fans of surreal mood pieces of uncomfortable horror and arthouse aesthetic, and--as it has been argued by some--for people who want a bad trip without the aid of illegal substances.
David Lynch is a great evoker of the cinema, a channeler of emotions and thoughts that defy conventional logic. What Lynch achieves in his films--especially Eraserhead--is to instill within the viewer a mood, and that mood would certainly be discomfort at the least here. Achieving this is more difficult than it sounds; in order to unnerve, to truly fill the audience with a sense of unease, one must create a complete realm for us to become drawn into. To quote Carl Sagan, "If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." And as David Lynch's films which would follow Eraserhead prove is that the filmmaker operates best on the subconscious level, where logic is driven along the rails of dreams. This is not to suggest that the film is "illogical", so much as to emphasize that they subscribe to a methodology which is instinctual, and we repress our instincts as part of society by design, so that they may only re-emerge in the security of our slumber. "Hypnosis" comes from the Greek god, Hypnos, the god of sleep, as one who is hypnotized shares much in common with those who dream. In essence, Eraserhead is best experienced detached from a deductive, analytical approach foremost, which makes dissecting it paradoxically a challenge which is both fascinating and futile, since each viewer's reactions should be different. And that is the key: reactions. To describe Eraserhead by plot is little more than to describe the events in sequence, not in context. Describing how you feel and what you feel at the experience would be better, like how the ghostly form emerging from Henry's mouth at the beginning of the film (is it a soul?) imbues one with the sense of futility and defeat as Henry is plagued with in his nightmare realm, as he falters in the face of his escalating responsibilities. Eraserhead was David Lynch's first theatrical release, and it was a secret treasure for a long time, as if born to dwell in shadows. But this film is one that has become the quintessential midnight movie cult classic (though you're welcome to argue for Rocky Horror)--and it was a clarion call of a bold new vision in filmmaking that has influenced other filmmakers to follow, challenging boundaries and conventional storytelling. The film's inception was one of extreme effort, occupying several years of the filmmaker's life, but resulting in a wholly unique product. Myth and rumor also make up part of the mystique of Eraserhead. For instance, what is that "baby" actually? How was it made? And is there really a subliminal message in the film which triggers its mysterious grip on viewers? Something that has always struck me about Eraserhead is how for a film produced with minimal (but absolutely crucial) resources and by (at the time) a student filmmaker, it is amazingly crisp and fresh. This is a testament to Lynch's vivid aesthetic and talent at captivating an image with an artist's eye, and maintaining that consistently throughout the picture. Eraserhead crawls under your skin. Just watch it alone at night, the shades drawn, the lights dimmed, maybe a poorly wired lamp flickering shadows against the wall. Then just try to go to sleep alone.
Recommended for: Fans of surreal mood pieces of uncomfortable horror and arthouse aesthetic, and--as it has been argued by some--for people who want a bad trip without the aid of illegal substances.