Among those who describe themselves as “film buffs,” few living filmmakers are as frequently discussed as David Lynch. There are many reasons for this (not least of which is Lynch’s perennial “gateway director” status), but chief among them is Lynch’s own cheerful opacity. The films of David Lynch are, of course, famously enigmatic, but when pressed about their deeper meaning Lynch invariably demurs, either coyly (“I think you already know what it means”) or bluntly (as anyone who’s ever asked him about the baby in Eraserhead can attest). Given this lack of a formal artist’s statement, it’s practically irresistible to try to talk through Lynch’s films– to theorize about their meaning, to speculate as to Lynch’s own mindset, or simply to talk about how crazy they are. Inevitably, these discussions end up sounding as if we’re trying to describe a vaguely remembered dream– which is probably pretty close to the director’s intent in the first place.
Alexandre O. Philippe’s Lynch/Oz is at least the fifth feature-length documentary to date about David Lynch (following 1997’s Pretty as a Picture, 2007’s Lynch, 2008’s Lynch (One), and 2016’s The Art Life), but it is the first to fully capture the sensation of a late-night conversation about Twin Peaks. Rather than present a feature-length narrative, it consists of six discrete video essays– from filmmakers Rodney Ascher, Karyn Kusama, John Waters, David Lowery, and the team of Justin Benson and Aaron Moorehead, plus film critic Amy Nicholson– exploring the connections and relationship between Lynch’s work and The Wizard of Oz. Your appreciation may hinge on your tolerance for listening to people gab about movies, but I found it comforting, hypnotic, and deceptively layered.
Though the central premise of Lynch/Oz is obviously very specific, the speakers cover an expanse of ground. There is no shortage of direct parallels between Lynch’s work and the 1939 classic, of course; most famously, Wild at Heart builds an entire image system around allusions to Oz, culminating in an appearance by Sheryl Lee (Laura Palmer herself!) as Glinda the Good Witch. But most of the participants go beyond their ostensible subject to explore Oz’s status as a modern American myth (as Nicholson points out, it has served as millions of children’s introduction to the concept of “a movie”), as well as the very nature of artistic inspiration. Philippe splices together thematically appropriate shots from Oz and various Lynch projects– curtains and doppelgangers and dwarves, oh my– but he also mixes in a dazzling array of other sources, suggesting the place both Lynch and Oz occupy in the tapestry of cinematic history. We see images of Dorothy Gale side-by-side with Luke Skywalker and Neo, and we see the various old-Hollywood images which found their way into Twin Peaks (there is a quick scene from the 1957 b-movie The Brain from Planet Arous which will make any Peaks aficionado’s jaw drop). We also see a good number of comparisons between other films, from the Battleship Potemkin homage from The Untouchables to the ubiquitous Spielberg Stare. This is a film about David Lynch and The Wizard of Oz, sure, but it’s also a film about the way we internalize art and culture, and the way filmmakers consciously and unconsciously cite their sources.
In other words, it’s a film about auteurism, which makes Philippe’s decision to speak primarily to filmmakers all the more interesting. When they talk about the ways in which Lynch draws inspiration from The Wizard of Oz, it’s clear that they’re also talking about their own work and influences. Some of the speakers make this an explicit part of their thesis: Waters shares priceless footage from his early short Dorothy the Kansas City Pothead, and Lowery uses the topic as a springboard to muse on the ways in which Disney and Spielberg inspired his own films. But one only needs a passing familiarity with Kusama’s studio struggles to understand why she feels such a deep connection with the bitter Hollywood fable of Mulholland Drive, and when Ascher– best known for the Shining conspira-doc Room 237– turns his analysis toward Stanley Kubrick you know he’s getting to the meat of his argument. Fittingly for a film concerning its subjects, Lynch/Oz is a hall of mirrors, its subjects, participants, and thesis refracting off each other in increasingly surprising ways.
If there is a shortcoming to Lynch/Oz as a film, it’s the question of whether it qualifies as a “film” at all. There is the barest of framing materials– cheesy “Lynchian” establishing shots of a theater, with Denver TV personality Sid Pink doing a baffling approximation of the MC from Club Silencio– which would be more appropriate on an early 2000s DVD menu than a theatrically released feature. Beyond that, this really is just a collection of six separate essays with accompanying visuals; one might argue that it would have been better released as a podcast, or even a book. But if you’re on its movie-obsessed wavelength– and I will readily admit that I am– it will be nigh irresistible, with the passion of its subjects mingling with its dizzyingly endless montage into a sort of cinematic reverie. Lynch/Oz won’t be for everyone, but if you’ve ever been entranced by the films of documentarian/historian Mark Cousins, you will find yourself in comfortable territory.
While I admit my bias may be generational, I’ve always found myself resistant to the dominant mode of YouTube film criticism. While I’m sure there are those in the field doing good work, the fight for clicks and views and liker/subscribers too often leads film-vloggers to try to upstage the movies at hand, or worse, to outsmart them. Lynch/Oz, then, serves as an antidote to the video essay industrial complex: each of its participants are clearly swept away by their own love of movies, positioning themselves less as “experts” (even though, by any metric, all seven are) than as simple viewers. If nothing else, it will inspire you to revisit some old favorites (preferably at the Brattle’s accompanying repertory series)– and to engage in the timeless pastime of Talking About David Lynch.
Lynch/Oz
2022
dir. Alexandre O. Philippe
108 min.
Screens 7/7-7/10 @ Brattle Theatre – click here for showtimes and ticket info
Accompanied by a self-explanatory repertory series!
