Have you ever thought of life in terms of allegory? Where everything is an illusion, even reality itself? And secondly, is it necessary to ‘understand’ all parts of a particular something, especially if that something is reflective of one’s man’s neurosis (or not)? If you’re looking for straight answers in David Lynch’s Eraserhead, you will be disappointed. Rather, in order to welcome this film, one must first embrace the idea of allegory, sort of akin to Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. (An influence for this film.) I mean, think about it—once you come to accept that Gregor Samsa has, in fact, turned into a giant bug, the story itself is actually pretty straightforward. The same can somewhat be said for Eraserhead. Once you come to accept the distorted universe in which Henry lives, then it can sort of fall into place.
First, let’s begin with the setting. Henry Spencer (Jack Nance) lives in an industrial, dilapidated hellhole with no trees or greens, merely buildings, rain, mud, muck, and plumes of smoke. He works as a printer at a factory, lives in a crappy building with low ceilings, and has holes in his bedding, with no space to grow or bloom. In short, we can presume that he hates his life. Across from him lives an attractive, flirty woman who informs him that someone named Mary wants him to come over for dinner. (Said woman later seduces him.) When they speak, there is this aloof detachment to their voices, as though they’re moving about in a dream. Then, when Henry joins Mary (Charlotte Stewart) and her parents for dinner, conversation goes as (somewhat) such:
Mary: Henry works at a factory as a printer. He’s very clever.
Mary’s mother: It sounds clever. Oh, and are you having sexual intercourse with my daughter? (Accompanied with ridiculous tongue licking.)
Scenes are indeed strange, but they don’t go without meaning. As example, beside Henry’s bed is a pot-less plant growing out of a mound of dirt, presumably having more freedom than Henry himself. When he looks out the window, he sees only a brick wall. Then, we learn there was a supposed ‘child’ resulting from Henry and Mary’s intercourse that is actually serpent-like—a squiggly, ugly thing that won’t stop crying. Is this a metaphor for a man who is revolted by his child?
Likewise, Mary hates the crying, ugly, squiggling ‘child’ and abruptly leaves. ‘You take care of it!’ she cries. Then, Henry dreams of something involving a woman from heaven, or maybe she appears from the radiator. She has puffy cheeks and smiles a lot. Above her, while she dances, more squiggly serpents fall, and she steps on them. Also, keep in mind the recurring imagery—lots of hemorrhaging—from the moving chicken on Henry’s plate, to Henry’s decapitated head. (Note that his hair much resembles Lynch’s hair at the time, so perhaps Henry sort of does resemble an eraser head.) One might think such similarity offers an explanation for the title, till we see the factory producing pencils with eraser heads, and the eraser dust is blown into the ether and Henry poses for one of the more iconic shots, and so on.
As you can see, it’s not really worth investing in a plot summary, but rather, one must be receptive to a bigger picture, as in the bleakness herein that invites both nightmare and humor. In its own way, Eraserhead is a charming and selectively humorous film, and I can see why many consider it a cult classic. But it’s also isolating in its oddness, and thus it becomes an anomaly all its own. In many ways, this film is truly ‘experimental,’ in that it was made by a 25- year-old Lynch who, with his shoestring budget, found a cheap set and hired his friends. (It also supposedly took him five years to make, only shooting when he was able and when he could gather the funds.) That the film has so little dialogue works to its advantage, e.g., the actors need not act, but rather, deliver their lines like they’re half asleep.
And as for Lynch himself? Admittedly, I have mixed feelings. On one hand, Lynch has directed great films, but then he also seems to veer off into one direction or another. (Hold on there, Lynch fans!) Now, what do I mean by that? Think of too much random shit happening with no deeper meaning, and after a while how those off-center moments begin to lose power. (Another director guilty of this is Lars Von Trier.) Furthermore, while I have seen a number of Lynch’s films, many I don’t remember, and I don’t seem to care about any one character. Eraserhead, however, is different because we are dealing with an alternate universe where eccentricity is the norm, so the absurdity works. (A contrast to someone like Trier, who with ridiculous moments that should be parody, is void of the humor Lynch possesses.)
However, despite my criticism, I must offer my respect to Mr. Lynch for maintaining his intense, creative output throughout his productive life. Additionally, that his films are all ‘unconventional’ in some way indicates his willingness to take risks. To contrast, in my experience, I’ve encountered more than my share of intellectually and creatively vigorous young individuals who, upon turning 30, how shall I say it—give up. It’s as though something dies within them and they lose themselves within the world of the ordinary—celebrity gossip, personal trainers, and social media. All this becomes ‘enough.’ In fact, one might be inclined to say that to maintain contentment is to maintain conformity. Rather, creativity is something that must be constantly challenged. And while I don’t believe all of Lynch’s films to be artistically a ‘success’, I admire him for his tenacity and for his willing attempts.
But back to the film. Eraserhead is worth watching, as any ‘iconic’ film is. Hell, John Waters’ Pink Flamingos is also worth the watch, but I wouldn’t call it a particularly good film. Like Pink Flamingos, Eraserhead falls outside the axis of conventional good and bad, because there is no convention to hold it in place. (Having said that, I do think it is a good, entertaining film—but that might be my black humor talking.) As for being a great film? It’s more unusual than anything, but at least it is Lynch. I’ve told young writers to forget being ‘great’ and to just write something that is inherently you. If you’re able to know what that is, then you’re halfway there. Embrace the oddness.
* * *
If you enjoyed this review of David Lynch’s ERASERHEAD, consider supporting our film on a great American poet and get patron-only content on Patreon. This will help the growth of this site, the automachination YouTube channel, and the ArtiFact Podcast. Our video essays include a comparison between Palestine and Liberia, an investigation into the death of American journalist Paul Klebnikov in Moscow, and the role of white guilt in American politics. You can also follow us on Twitter.
More from Jessica Schneider: Burning the Letters: Amy Holden Jones’ “Love Letters” (1983), Words & Worlds Rearranged: Reviewing “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”, Sad Dreams: on Gia Coppola’s “The Last Showgirl” (2024)