Lynch's Unique Filmmaking Legacy Endures

The Twin Peaks pilot opens with the mundane: a high school, students smoking, a boy summoned to the principal's office, attendance being taken. Then, a police officer's hushed words to the teacher, a scream, a fleeing student, a teacher's tears, and the looming announcement. Lynch's camera focuses on an empty desk; two students exchange a glance, a silent understanding of Laura Palmer's death.

Lynch masterfully captured life's surface details, yet his work always revealed a disturbing undercurrent, a sense of something profoundly "not right." This pivotal Twin Peaks scene encapsulates a recurring theme throughout his career. Yet, it's not *the* definitive Lynch scene, as his four-decade-plus oeuvre offers countless contenders for fans to debate.

The unsettling, dreamlike quality of his work has earned him legendary status, a status solidified by the term "Lynchian"—a descriptor for that elusive sense of unease, that inability to pinpoint precisely what feels amiss. This is the bittersweet aspect of his passing for fans: an artist with a singular voice whose appeal resonates differently with each individual.

Few artists merit a newly coined adjective. While "Spielbergian" or "Scorsese-ish" describe specific stylistic elements, "Lynchian" transcends the specifics of its origin, encompassing a broader sense of disquiet and disorientation, making it uniquely powerful.

Watching Eraserhead was a formative experience for one of us (Scott), unknowingly foreshadowing his son's later discovery of Lynch's work (with his father's encouragement). But the son and his girlfriend independently binged Twin Peaks (reaching Season 2's Windom Earle arc), demonstrating the enduring appeal of Lynch's vision.

Lynch's work possesses a timeless, oddly unsettling quality. In Twin Peaks: The Return (2017), a child's 1950s-style bedroom—a detail echoing Lynch's own childhood—contrasts starkly with the nightmarish world he inhabits: clones from other dimensions, brutal violence. This juxtaposition is quintessentially Lynch.

Despite the Hollywood nostalgia boom, Lynch remained true to his vision in The Return, defying expectations by largely omitting key original characters. This unconventional approach was perfectly Lynchian.

His Dune adaptation, though a commercial failure, remains distinctly Lynchian, showcasing his unique style despite its troubled production (detailed in Max Evry's A Masterpiece in Disarray). Even within the established Dune narrative, Lynch's signature imagery—like the bizarre cat/rat milking machine—shines through.

Yet, Lynch's work also possesses beauty, even amidst the weirdness and unease. The Elephant Man, though arguably his closest foray into mainstream appeal, remains deeply moving, depicting a historical context of cruelty and ultimately showcasing the triumph of a gentle soul.

Defining Lynch's work by genre or trope is futile, yet his distinct style is instantly recognizable. His films are dark, funny, dreamlike, surreal, and strangely organic. His fascination with the hidden world beneath the surface is a hallmark of his artistry.

Blue Velvet, for example, appears initially as a standard noir, but its seemingly idyllic setting masks a world of drug abuse and exploitation. This juxtaposition of surface normalcy and unsettling depths is characteristic of Lynch's work, drawing upon a unique blend of influences now largely absent from contemporary cinema. A documentary exploring his relationship with The Wizard of Oz further illuminates this point.

We're now seeing a second or third generation of filmmakers influenced by previous generations. Early cinema saw artists from other disciplines adapting to film. Later, filmmakers sought to emulate their childhood favorites. Lynch was among them, but his unique style eventually transformed him from an inheritor of influences into an influence himself, reinforcing the significance of "Lynchian."

A scene in 2024's I Saw The TV Glow, featuring a bar scene with live music, exemplifies this "Lynchian" influence. The camera work, costuming, and lighting create an atmosphere reminiscent of Lynch's style, highlighting the enduring impact of his work. Jane Schoenbrun's film, inspired by Twin Peaks, showcases this influence.

The "Lynchian" aesthetic is evident in diverse films: Yorgos Lanthimos' darkly comedic explorations of societal norms (The Lobster); Robert Eggers' and Ari Aster's nightmarish visions (The Lighthouse, Midsommar); David Robert Mitchell's unsettling thrillers (It Follows, Under the Silver Lake); Emerald Fennell's Saltburn; Richard Kelly's Donnie Darko; Rose Glass's Love Lies Bleeding; and even elements in Quentin Tarantino's and Denis Villeneuve's works. Lynch's influence is undeniable.

While not everyone's favorite, Lynch's legacy is undeniable. His films, invoking the past while exploring the unseen, will continue to inspire future filmmakers. His impact lies in his ability to reveal the "Lynchian" undercurrents lurking beneath the surface of reality, a legacy that will endure.