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: […]