Filmography Worship: Ranking Every David Lynch Film
Filmography Worship is a new series where we review every single feature of filmmakers that have made our Wall of Fame (to be released soon).
Arguably the most popular auteur to have any firm connection with the avant-garde, David Lynch has single handedly changed much of pop culture with his bridging of the unusual with the norm. His wholesome nature completely clashes with the open-ended styles of most of his features, and it almost makes us want to discover what he’s trying to say even more. In a way, his quirky manners of speech — especially when describing life or film — are their own portals into a new way of reading this strange experience we’re all going through together; his films feel of another dimension entirely (for the most part). It’s safe to say that David Lynch has one of the most sensational filmographies of any major filmmaker, and rarely did he ever churn out a complete dud. Even at his worst, he is provocative, forward-thinking, mysterious and at least interesting. At his best, David Lynch is an untouchable director within American film history, as one of the finest artists of the nation. Let’s see what putting his filmography — in order from worst to best — looks like.
10. Dune
The only considerably bad film David Lynch ever made was his adaptation of Dune; it also constitutes as the furthest into the realm of mainstream blockbusters that he ever went (he was actually considered for Return of the Jedi, but I can imagine it would have maybe had similar results). Lynch shot for some different kinds of futuristic aesthetics, especially to match Frank Herbert’s source material. Unfortunately, much of these efforts have aged incredibly poorly, and they likely didn’t fare well even upon release (compare them to, say, Aliens, or A Nightmare on Elm Street’s effects).
Narratively, Dune is also a bit of a bore, and it ironically feels like one of Lynch’s emptier films, despite being much more literarily dense than the majority of his filmography. Even with some love showing from every cast and crew member (particularly Kyle MacLachlan in his first major role), Dune just feels like a chore, and is the only Lynch film that doesn’t feel inviting enough for you to try and venture through it (strange, considering it’s Dune). Lynch himself doesn’t like this film, so I’d consider it his Squeeze if he was The Velvet Underground.
9. Wild at Heart
Even though this film is incredibly low, Wild at Heart still has a lot of great stuff going for it, and I’d definitely consider it worthy of a watch. The film is one of Lynch’s more polarizing works, and naturally that means that some cinephiles will like the film more than I did (and, even then, I still like Wild at Heart quite a lot). It is easily Lynch’s silliest feature film, as it fully embraces its origins: Elvis’s crashing of Hollywood, and The Wizard of Oz (in case Nicolas Cage’s perfect casting, and the plethora of metaphors and references weren’t obvious indications).
My biggest issue is that Wild at Heart kind of feels tonally all over the place, but that can easily be a complaint one could have for some of the films I’ve ranked higher. Things really do get subjective with David Lynch’s filmography: which of these surreal images, abstract depictions of society, and bizarre comedic moments resonate the most with you? There are a number of particular moments that are just tremendous in Wild at Heart: Diane Ladd’s entire performance, Sherilyn Fenn’s incredibly dismal accident sequence, and Willem Dafoe’s mind blowing fate. I can still find a lot of entertainment and connectivity with Wild at Heart, but it does feel like a series of individual stand out scenes to me.
8. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me
What was meant to be the first of a series of Twin Peaks films, Fire Walk with Me is both stellar and a bit scant. It’s absolutely meant for Twin Peaks fans who are caught up with the original two seasons of the show (do not watch the film before the show, since it contains most of the series’ major twists in plain sight). Over time, love for Fire Walk with Me has grown, and it’s easy to see why. Like many things Twin Peaks (including The Return), some time to marinate on what you’ve seen is crucial (you can say this about many Lynchian works, but Twin Peaks being a weekly event invited this type of scrutiny more consistently).
A brutal depiction of societal misogyny, the failure to reach the American dream, and the expectations a young teen has to face when the odds are seemingly against her (even if in ways they aren’t), Fire Walk with Me is completely an homage to all of the moments Twin Peaks fans couldn’t spend with Laura Palmer; it’s unfortunate that the only time we have with her is all within her downward spiral before her murder. Even with knowledge of the show, Fire Walk with Me is still typical Lynchian ambiguity, including some of his scariest imagery, heaviest sequences, and most strange concepts; it’s definitely a must for Twin Peaks and Lynch fans.
7. The Straight Story
The most orthodox film Lynch ever made is still branded with his signature mystique. The Straight Story somewhat continues Lynch’s brief trend of interpreting unbelievable true stories and humanizing the names attached to the legends. Having Richard Farnsworth as Alvin Straight is just genius casting, because you feel like this mission (to travel across the United States on a tractor to see his brother, worrying that his time is near after a stroke) is absolutely worth it, and that his determination to get there at any cost is noble (other actors or directors could have rendered this all hokey).
Lynch never fully goes full-Hallmark on this film, either (regardless of that Disney label attached to The Straight Story). It feels authentic, like this was an event captured on film and not enhanced cinematically (thus forcing you how to feel); even the climax is so organic that you may feel an entire array of emotions at once. It would be nice to see David Lynch tackle fare of this nature again, but for now The Straight Story is the lone oddity in his filmography of, well, oddities; it’s a beautiful irony.
6. Lost Highway
This is another polarizing David Lynch work, but I do not care. I am fully on the Lost Highway train. Even if I were to distance the film as being the feature that walked so Mulholland Drive could run (which it basically is), Lost Highway is still sublime in its own capacity. Like some of his finest works, you can read Lost Highway in a series of ways. Is this all entirely metaphorical, about the film industry and the acting process (taking on another person temporarily)? Is Lost Highway part real, and partially imagined by a criminal rotting in prison (with signs of his reality peaking through the film’s more surreal moments)? Could this all just be very literal in Lynch’s original way?
Featuring an industrial and drum-and-bass soundtrack that mashes pop culture and our deepest concerns together in harmonious fashion, Lost Highway is certainly like a Hollywood film if it was run through the processors of hell and returned to us (it’s snazzy and fancy, but it looms over you, as if its entire soul was ripped out). Toying with the linearity of film by crossing timelines and existences over one another, Lynch uses Lost Highway as a filmic playground, and every second is glorious.
5. The Elephant Man
The first biopic that Lynch tackled was also only his second feature altogether. The Elephant Man is somewhat of a more traditional welcome to his style after Eraserhead, mainly because of its higher budget, initial distribution, and large cast (including John Hurt as Joseph Merrick [here named John], Anthony Hopkins, Anne Bancroft, and John Gielgud). I know this was the moment that the entire world — outside of cult, underground film circles — took notice of Lynch, because of the numerous Academy Award nominations and the immediate legacy The Elephant Man received.
Merging the sad realities of a hateful world that neglects one of their own with the dreams of said neglected citizen, The Elephant Man puts Merrick’s interpreted subconscious at the forefront. The mesmerizing dream sequences clash heavily with the turmoil Merrick faced on a constant basis, but it makes him a fully fledged character before he even opens up to us. Even though the film tiptoes the biopic checklist, Lynch still makes the most of every moment, and his progressions never feel like they had to abide by these rules (they just so happened to). The Elephant Man is an unhinged biographical film, in a way that makes you rethink the entire category.
4. Inland Empire
The most underrated gem in David Lynch’s canon is Inland Empire: easily his most frightening, obscure film that he has ever made (concerning features, anyway). The only thing that is certain here is that Laura Dern has never been better; it’s unfortunate that Lynch’s promotional attempts with a cow didn’t help her secure that deserved Academy Award nomination. You stick by her side, even when her character changes personalities entirely (the film presents these iterations in a fragmented style, making for a mightily confusing, yet hypnotic, initial watch).
Filmed with the worst camera quality possible (I’m sure), Inland Empire continues Lynch’s search for the uncomfortable territory in the inhuman; even if parts of this film seem incredibly fake, they still terrify the ever loving soul out of me. Surrounding the rise-and-fall of stars in the acting industry, and dipping into the unique qualifications of actors taking on new identities (like numerous other Lynch films), Inland Empire is possibly his deepest dissection of the film industry to date, as if we’re watching the innards of a film on the surgical floor. It’s his most challenging effort, but parts of it (including Chrysta Bell’s haunting singing, Dern’s many collapses, and the occasional tenderness) make the entire story quite moving. We also can’t forget about the inclusion of those Rabbits shorts, which are way too funny-yet-uncomfortable.
3. Eraserhead
Where it all started for David Lynch. Eraserhead is similar to the shorts he was making as a student, considering his fixation with smearing the American family portrait so it contained the brush strokes of a Francis Bacon masterpiece. Lynch has claimed that Eraserhead has nothing to do with a new parent’s fears of having a child, but I also like to think Lynch never confirms anything, so you are always left with your own interpretation. It’s difficult to not think that that’s what Eraserhead is about, considering the alien baby and its countless problems; there’s also the terrible family dinner to kick this whole affair off, as meeting a partner’s parents is a nightmare of its own for many.
Placing the heart of American society in a dirty industrial neighbourhood renders Eraserhead familiar yet distant. With all of the surreal vignettes (visiting the singer in the radiator, the actual turning of one’s mug into pencil erasers, and other strange occurrences), Eraserhead feels a bit like a wandering mind, drifting in between reality and one’s inner thoughts (as if they have a tough time processing that this is now their life). Regardless of what Lynch has said, I still find Eraserhead to be one of the most fascinating, multifaceted depictions of life in the United States to date. It was destined to resonate with most viewers and become one of the great cult classics.
2. Blue Velvet
After Dune failed, Lynch went back to the drawing board and tried to see where it all began for him. Simply put: he is a cinephile like the rest of us. Instead of trying to go for the completely original, he seemed to want to mimic the kinds of works that he finds intriguing. I honestly don’t think it’s a coincidence that a film like Blue Velvet feels like an homage and a decimation of John Hughes classics of the ‘80s (in the same way Twin Peaks mocks yet adores soap operas); maybe Lynch himself doesn’t like these films, but he might admire how America receives them (and, as we all know, Lynch loves to pick apart American culture).
Blue Velvet is the strongest of Lynch’s more straightforward efforts, because of the many extents it is willing to go. It contains some of his more euphoric moments (any instance of Julee Cruise’s “Mysteries of Love”, for instance), right next to viciously dark and taboo sequences (any instance of Dennis Hopper as Frank Booth, basically). Pitting the coming-of-age insecurities of teenagers next to the maturation of experiencing death, fear, and sex for the first time is incredibly bold in the ways that Lynch does with Blue Velvet. He had the knack for knowing how to make these elements work, as he secured himself one of the great works of the 1980’s.
1. Mulholland Drive
Even though it might have been more difficult to select his opus before, I believe time has pointed us all towards the direction of Mulholland Drive, which was once well received but is now unanimously worshipped. Being a mystery you can solve yourself (and actually be able to solve, unlike something more interpretational like Inland Empire) has made Mulholland Drive definitely worthy of many conversations by film geeks for the last twenty years. This is especially true, when we decipher the demise of romance, the struggles of the film industry, and the guilt surrounding the worst action one has ever made; all are temporarily cleansed by the subconscious.
Even if Mulholland Drive didn’t make sense, it’s still Lynch’s finest uses of sounds and images in any film, as if he was evoking the Golden Age of Hollywood in his own warped lens (full of grainy, rich colours underneath the darkest of shadows). It’s the slow realization of what you’re watching that has made Mulholland Drive one of cinema’s most unique experiences you’ll ever have. I have seen this film at least fifty times (if I had to ballpark the amount), and I am still discovering new little hints that all point to my own interpretation of the film. Considering that this was partially constructed by a pilot for a new series that never took off, David Lynch gestated Mulholland Drive into its own beautiful creation. It’s his own greatest masterpiece, and one of America’s strongest statements on the Hollywood machine.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.