Watching David Lynch’s 1977 feature ‘Eraserhead’, it is easy to understand why it is not often mentioned throughout the casual cinema-goer world; a little artsy, full of macabre imagery and with no discernible soundtrack, it doesn’t stand up as a necessarily entertaining piece of cinema. Instead, it is a film that requires the viewer’s nerve to withstand the relentlessly surreal scenes that don’t let up throughout the entirety of the film.
You are dropped into a broken-looking world as you follow Henry Spencer – Jack Nance of ‘Twin Peaks’ fame with Hammer Horror-style electric-shock hair – as he navigates the dystopian, all-too-industrial scenery whilst trying to raise his wildly-deformed child. Spencer is odd; he doesn’t look comfortable within the world which he inhabits but I think that is largely the point – it is not meant to be a comfortable life – but you would be wrong to think that it doesn’t get weirder than he does. Between Spencer’s awkward, far-off gaze and his soon-to-be mother-in-law’s moaning outbursts, I would choose to spend an evening with Nance’s character any day of the week. Soon you are introduced to the fact that Spencer’s girlfriend (Mary X portrayed by Charlotte Stewart) has discovered that she is pregnant, and that the baby, born “prematurely”, is not what it seems. It is disfigured, maybe not even human, and you follow the struggle as the couple try to raise the often-wailing “child”. Scenes of the baby, interspersed with odd dreamlike sequences, which include a woman living inside Spencer’s radiator, are often disturbing yet oddly captivating, especially upon your first viewing. The film climaxes in a heinous act by Henry Spencer, and a horribly fascinating one at that, before it cuts completely – suddenly – to the credits. It is interesting to think that this slow-burning, troubling drama was released in the same year as Saturday Night Fever and Star Wars: A New Hope. Is this the art-house answer to the mainstream? It has been largely overshadowed by its contemporaries and maybe rightfully so – this is not a mainstream piece of filmmaking. This isn’t a film you can necessarily relate to.
That is, unless you perceive it as a disturbing take on new parenthood and the sense of isolation that it can bring. The “baby” is alien to new parents’ lives: it is a new scenario to have to deal with, and that can be a daunting feeling for new parents – especially, like in Henry and Mary X’s case, for those who didn’t plan it. Or it could be a description of an industrial future of living in small, downtrodden tenements and having to navigate an increasingly dark world. Either way, you have to watch it for yourself to really experience the complete, overwhelming dystopia.
One thing that cannot be ignored is the oddly-stunning style of the film, especially in terms of the use of black and white and the arrangement of the lighting. It is reminiscent of my favourite movies from the film noir genre. There is no doubt that the style was inspired by the noir films of the 1940s, as it is so obviously reflected in the way that scenes are lit, often with harsh differences between the blacks and the whites. The lighting is often used sparingly, with single sources of light used to illuminate entire rooms and scenes, giving it the feel of a film much older than 1977. The use of the black and white, and how harsh the contrast can be, is in all honesty captivating. It only serves to add a further darkness to the already chilling storyline, but it is so necessary. I can’t imagine the film working nearly so well in colour as it needs the ghostly shades to add another dimension to an already troubling storyline, to give it the coldness that it needs.
On top of the imagery and tone of the film, the majority of the film moves without any real soundtrack, excluding the rare moments when Spencer plays his favourite records of what seems to be old fairground music. The only way to describe the background noise is like a wind tunnel, or the sound left after a nuclear explosion. It’s not that there’s nothing, it’s just that there isn’t anything of real substance, and this again serves the uncomfortable feel of the whole film. The audio will grate on you and Lynch was unremitting in his use of the sound effects he chose, but again, like the depressing tone of the lighting, it is necessary to convey the entire story.
So upon first viewing, it is confusing, disturbing and maybe even depressing. It shows a world that nobody would ever want to inhabit, and yet for all it’s obvious “flaws”, it is quite a charming film. When you learn that it was a labour of love for Lynch, and that it took him over a five-year period to complete and release the film, you see it as a piece of artwork. A disturbing, misunderstood masterpiece, where the “flaws” are entirely deliberate to feature as an integral part of the experience – it is not trying to fit in as a piece of popular cinema, but to be original instead. It will never be a mainstream film, that much is obvious – upon it’s release it garnered bad reviews – but it grew to become a cult classic and was once quoted as being Stanley Kubrick’s favourite movie and that the use of dissonance as a soundtrack inspired his choice of music for ‘The Shining’. It has become, and will forever be, a cult film. It won’t ever be an often-mentioned piece of work cited by large swathes of cinema-goers, and it won’t top any ‘Best Of’ lists, but you can understand why it would collect it’s cult status. I would recommend it to anyone that wants to be a little disturbed, because this is a film that will not leave your subconscious ever – it is in it’s own way an unforgettable piece of cinema.
Harry Sowerby, 04/10/2018
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