​We danced with the dream man

By Greg Carlson

gregcarlson1@gmail.com

For so many of us, the news announcing the death of the brilliant David Keith Lynch — who died just a few days short of his 79th birthday — interrupted beautiful blue skies and golden sunshine all along the way. Close followers and fans were shocked but not necessarily surprised. In August of 2024, Lynch addressed concerns about his declining health, issuing a statement that read in part, “I have to say that I enjoyed smoking very much, and I do love tobacco — the smell of it, lighting cigarettes on fire, smoking them — but there is a price to pay for this enjoyment, and the price for me is emphysema.”

The subreddit devoted to Lynch responded with an outpouring of messages expressing concern, laments that any future projects would have to be directed remotely (due to the housebound Lynch’s need for oxygen) and serious worries that things were much worse than we knew — leading to what Palmer house owner Mary Reber described as “anticipatory grief.” Then, devastating, catastrophic wildfires necessitated that Lynch leave Los Angeles and the end arrived not long after he made it to his daughter’s home. Tributes flooded the internet and continue to be posted. From Lynch’s family, to the actors he worked with again and again, to fellow filmmakers including Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese, to the faithful devotees of his artistic output, the words are comforting.

My friend Heidi Reule articulated exactly what I have been thinking when she remarked on Sunday, “My feed has been nothing but David Lynch appreciation posts and I couldn’t be happier. Can it stay like this?” I sure hope so. Keep those movie theater marquee photos coming! Some of the best reflections get at the quintessence of what has come to be called “Lynchian.” Jordan Mintzer summarizes the term as the “lifting away of the facades and illusions of so-called normal life.” But the thoughts I appreciate most are the intimate and personal descriptions of how people came to discover DKL.

I began my parasocial relationship with him in the basement of my friend Mike Scholtz's house in Moorhead. Enticed by the iconic red-bordered RCA/Columbia Pictures Home Video VHS cover at the rental store, our young minds were absolutely rearranged by "Eraserhead" during a sleepover birthday party. Years later, while walking in Temple Bar on a visit to see my friend Jim Shands in Dublin, a poster with that unmistakable image of Jack Nance caught my eye. I made a beeline for the box office, convincing Jim to join me for the next screening of an absolutely gorgeous 35mm film print. I was in heaven. Everything was fine.

Too young to purchase a ticket to "Blue Velvet," and not bold enough to sneak into a screening like my fellow Lynch fanatic Matt Dreiling, I watched the movie with Chris Heimarck on a VHS tape borrowed from his brother. And then I watched it another hundred times.

I was one of those who joined regular "Twin Peaks" viewing parties, celebrating again and again with Mike and Matt and many other enthusiasts. I was gobsmacked when Clint Cooper, another disciple, created his own homemade fan film as a tribute to Special Agent Dale Cooper, Laura Palmer and the other denizens of that unforgettable Pacific Northwest town.

During its original theatrical engagement, I saw "Wild at Heart" in Los Angeles, Minneapolis and Fargo in the span of a week and a half. At least one person walked out early in each of those three showings, which increased my enjoyment level in much the same spirit as the use of “TWO THUMBS DOWN!” on the “Lost Highway” poster. I felt really bad that the walk-outs failed to heed the advice of the Good Witch. They turned away from love.

At the initial local screening of "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me," I cheered along with the others when, in the very first line of the movie, Lynch's own idiosyncratic G-man Gordon Cole shouts for Agent Chester Desmond — who happens to be in Fargo, North Dakota, where I make my home.

On a Cinecon trip, Ted Larson and Rusty Casselton arranged for me to sit down face-to-face with Grace Zabriskie at the Hollywood Roosevelt. I was an awkward undergrad, but the patient and kind-hearted Ms. Z went above and beyond. It was the closest to Lynch I ever got. Quite a few years later, my dear friend Tierney Michon met the man himself when she worked for a few days on “The Return.” Tierney gave me permission to tell the following story. I love the way she puts it, so here it is in her own words:

“On set he was incredibly focused and smoked constantly. When one cigarette neared its end he’d light a fresh one with the tip of the other and for a few drags he’d have both cigarettes pinched between his lips.

He was gruff and direct but had an ease about him that was calming to be around … as interesting and faceted a person as you’d expect him to be. He treated us background actors, the lowest of the low, with great respect and thanked us often for our patience when time was running over. He seemed to hate wasting people’s time but he didn’t have to worry, because we were all so glad to be there.

There was an instance where I’d been in a very visible spot for a scene and then when the set-up changed my new position was equally as visible. I was super excited but Lynch told the background wrangler that I couldn’t be in front again. I was initially upset but then I heard him say, ‘A girl like that they’re going to notice.’ So I guess he gave me a compliment.”

I can confidently attest that I have spent more time watching, pondering, reading about and savoring the work of DKL than the output of any other filmmaker. Now that he is gone, I have the feeling that just like Blue Rose Task Force Director Phillip Jeffries, he was never really here.

I love you, Mr. Lynch. Thanks for dreaming.