It’s undeniably one of the most bizarre films ever made, and it has always been one of my favorites. David Lynch’s debut, Eraserhead,
released in 1977 but made intermittently for five years prior, defies
categorization. It’s haunting and troubling enough to be a horror film.
It has enough scenes of the peculiar and irrational to fall into the
fantasy genre. There are the prevailing themes of marital strife and the
burdens of parenthood, elements of any number of dramatic features. And
there are plenty of moments yielding laughter, albeit a rather awkward
and distressed kind of laughter, to make it a comedy of sorts. (As much
as anything though, any laughing during this film may also serve as a
defense mechanism, where the audience may try to brush off the
disturbing and strange as comical so as to be less unsettling.)
So, what’s the film about. Henry has a
girlfriend named Mary. She becomes pregnant - though, as she notes, the
doctors aren’t even sure it is a baby. Forced to marry by her parents,
the two unhappily assume the role of man and wife and mom and dad,
taking care of the ... well, let’s just say “different” child. Mary
can’t take the insistent crying of the baby and goes back home. Henry,
meanwhile, does his best to tend to the child, who becomes visibly — and
gruesomely — sick. What happens next is a barrage of the incongrous and
engrossing. There are many elements of the film that give it its
admittedly minimal narrative, but let’s be real, nobody watches this
film for its plot.
Eraserhead
is simply a just plain weird movie. It has a mood and tone unlike
anything else. It looks and sounds truly amazing. It gets under your
skin. You become uncomfortable at times, falling somewhere between a
dream state and a place of higher consciousness. Sounds hyperbolic for a
movie? Watch it and see.
David Lynch has made a career out of directing odd, unique and, more often than not, excellent movies. Eraserhead
is certainly on the extreme end of odd, but there’s much more to this
great filmmaker. Take a few steps back from the surrealism of Eraserhead (but not many) and you get to Blue Velvet, from 1986, one of the greatest American films ever made, a provocative examination of small town secrets. Then there’s Wild at Heart and Lost Highway (1990, 1997), two of his most inventive films, both fiercely eccentric in sound and image. His last two features, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire
(2001, 2006), are also both brilliant in a typically unusual way, the
former earning Lynch his third Oscar nomination for Best Director (Blue Velvet and The Elephant Man,
1980, were the previous two). These movies are all comprised to varying
degrees of bizarre characters and absurd situations, though in them
there’s perhaps more to latch on to than in Eraserhead. On the other hand, Lynch did also made The Elephant Man (bizarre subject yes, but not bizarre in form like other Lynch pictures) and The Straight Story, in 1999 (again, an unusual — but true — plot, but not style). And then there’s the pop culture phenomenon that was Twin Peaks, where he brought his unique thematic and stylistic sensibilities to America’s living rooms.
Still, Eraserhead
is the high water mark in the cannon of cult classic cinema. In an era
of the midnight movie when something abnormal and flamboyant was
expected (see also Rocky Horror and Pink Flamingos),
Lynch’s film managed to be exceptional and noteworthy even amongst this
most savvy movie-going crowd. It’s a film that has to be seen to be
believed.
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Despite having made such Hollywood films as Rear Window (1954), Vertigo (1958), and Psycho
(1960) — to name just a few of his many great movies — there are some
who make the case that Alfred Hitchcock actually did his finest work in
England, prior to his move across the Atlantic (his first American film,
Rebecca, in 1940, would be his only to ever win a Best Picture Academy
Award).
In this view, 1935's The 39 Steps,
just released on a new Criterion Collection Blu-ray, is a picture
typically cited as one of his British best. It’s not difficult to see why. The 39 Steps,
aside from featuring much of what we would come to associate with
Hitchcock’s unique style, is simply a hugely entertaining film. It’s
brisk, funny, suspenseful, and, given its construction, where scenes are
acted out in rigidly established set pieces, it is remarkably
economical in terms of aesthetic and narrative.
While
making films in England, Hitchcock was not known exclusively as a
director of thrillers. He dabbled in a variety of genres. He was not yet
the Master of Suspense. But from his silent masterpiece The Lodger (1927) to The Lady Vanishes (1938) he no doubt excelled in the form. The 39 Steps, which refers to an ambiguous code name for an ambiguous group of spies, is a prime example.
Shots
ring out at a music hall and Hannay (Robert Donat) ends up fleeing with
a "Miss Smith" (Lucie Mannheim). The shots, it turns out, were from her
gun. She was trying to stop a group of spies from receiving secrets
detrimental to England. She fears the spies are now on her trail and,
subsequently, also after Hannay. Back in his apartment, a glimpse out
his window confirms this. Over night, the spies somehow make their way
into his flat and kill the girl. Hannay manages to escape and becomes,
in archetypal Hitchcock fashion, the wrong man in over his head in a
situation he doesn't fully understand. This is a theme Hitch would
revisit time and time again. In The 39 Steps we also see the
emergence of another famously frequent Hitchcock component: the blonde.
After some initial and prolonged reluctance to side with Hannay, Pamela
(Madeleine Carroll) becomes stuck with the fugitive. Though not buying
his story at first, she gets the proof she needs and their relationship
becomes solidified. But can they discontinue their bickering long enough
to figure out who is after Hannay, and why, what do they want, and why
does he continue to hum that strange tune?
Pamela
doesn't quite have the icy composure that would characterize many of
Hitchcock's later leading ladies, but Hannay is certainly one of the
filmmaker's most interesting and compelling male figures. Donat performs
in a perfectly understated, very wry, very British manner. Mostly he's
calm, cool, and collected, and frequently very funny.
A third element at work in The 39 Steps, another that would remain in Hitchcock's later films, is the MacGuffin. This is basically a plot device ostensibly
driving the film, one quickly becoming inconsequential to the audience.
These features are merely a pretense for the action, the drama, and the
romance. This goes along with Hitchcock's penchant for blatantly
disregarding logistical issues, parts of the plot that perhaps defy
reasonable explanation. Why do the spies not kill Hannay when they're in
his apartment? What information are the spies after? What exactly are
the 39 steps? Who cares.
Now
I have to admit, I am certainly not in the camp that prefers
Hitchcock's British films to those he made in America. As good as The 39 Steps
is, and it is very good, it still represents to me more of a preview of
what's to come. Visually and thematically, many of the Hitchcock
hallmarks are there, as they were in several of his better English
pictures, but for whatever reason the director was most profoundly able
to flourish in the Hollywood system. Still, if you want to see some
wonderful Hitchcock films made before the filmmaker was an icon of the
cinema, The 39 Steps is an excellent selection to start with; I would also suggest The Lodger, Blackmail (1929 - Hitch's pioneering first sound film), The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934), Secret Agent and Sabotage (both 1936).
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