THE RELUCTANT FILM CRITIC’S CORNER

“The Straight Story,” (1999) directed by David Lynch. Review by Phil X.

There aren’t a lot of major American filmmakers who effectively polarize their audiences. Scorcese. Tarantino. Baz Luhrmann. David Lynch. Mention any one of their movies to the average cinema-trekker, and the response you’ll receive ranges from an enthusiastic “I loved it!” to a vehement “That sucked!” For Scorcese and Tarantino, a lot has to do with content. Ear-slicings and psychological decay aren’t everybody’s cup of tea. David Lynch’s most popular works—Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks, Mulholland Drive—feature no shortage of violence and disturbing imagery. However, what seems to put most people off about him isn’t content; it’s Lynch’s uncompromising, some would say reckless, tendency to make his films inaccessable.

Can anyone who has seen Fire Walk With Me explain what David Bowie’s character has to do with anything? How about the dude with the cowboy hat in Mulholland Drive? Here’s a good one: Can somebody explain to me how Fire…, …Drive, or Lost Highway can exist? I mean the logic of their stories. It’s like that line from the Coen Brothers’ The Man Who Wasn’t There: The more you look at something, the less sense it makes. Personally, I gave up trying to make heads or tales of anything by David Lynch a long time ago. If you haven’t experienced the Lynch-verse yet, but you’re planning to pay a visit real soon, trust me: Leave logic at the door. Give yourself up to the dark, dandy imagery, and watch out for Dean Stockwell singing Roy Orbison tunes with his face painted.

Or, you can try watching The Straight Story. This was Lynch’s 1999 effort, following the critical and commercial failure of Lost Highway. I’ve read a lot of reviews calling this “Lynch’s most accessible film ever.” Unlike many of his other works, the screenplay moves in a linear direction. Never does the viewer question whether he/she has been sucked into a parallel universe. Nor are there funny-sounding dwarves, standing in rooms with red curtains. Most surprisingly, there isn’t any gratuitous nudity. This is a Disney-funded, honest-to-God PG-RATED movie. Mention that to any hardcore Lynch fans. Last time I checked, a PG-rated flick helmed by Blue Velvet’s auteur was one of the signs of the apocalypse.

But this isn’t like the Peter, Paul and Mary TV Special directed by Tobe Hooper (Not making that one up.) While The Straight Story never evolves into surrealistic hallucination, a la its sibling films, it does feature similar distinguishing characteristics. In other words, the genes say it’s family, though it’s more of a second cousin than a brother. At its core, The Straight Story is about secrets. On the surface, Alvin Straight (played by the late Richard Farnsworth) is a kind, gentle soul. He’s everybody’s grandpa come Thanksgiving. But underneath his easy smile and harmless, hobbling gait, Alvin Straight hides dark, disturbing secrets: A wartime memory that has never ceased to haunt him. Wrecked years blown to hell by rage and alcohol. (There are hints that his own family wants nothing to do with him anymore. Outside of Sissy Spacek’s character—the daughter whom some would call “a little slow”—we never hear a word about Alvin’s other thirteen children.) And then there’s that decade-old feud with his brother Lyle.

After Lyle suffers a bad stroke, Alvin, an old man himself, decides he must reconcile with his brother. Having bad eyes and no car anyway, his only means of transportation is a tractor-style lawn mower. In the hands of lesser writers and directors, this would form the basis of an uninspired comedy with plenty of stale jokes. But in Lynch’s hands, the journey forms the backdrop wherein Alvin must confront his long-festering demons.

Substitute Alvin Straight with a suburban town from “Leave It to Beaver.” What you get is Blue Velvet. Use Hollywood instead and you get Mulholland Drive. In those movies, as in The Straight Story, Lynch shows us something bright, shiny, pretty. But then he starts peeling away layers. Gradually, the audience, and the characters, find out that what’s been hidden underneath ain’t nearly so pretty. We collectively uncover a pool of primal emotions: bitterness, anger, fear, resentment. Alvin Straight, staring across a bar at himself, just… talking about his past, unnerves as much as Kyle MacLaughlin’s first encounter with Dennis Hopper. It’s as earth-shattering as Naomi Watts waking up from her “dream.” It’s just a different kind of discovery, just a different kind of secret.

Is it more disturbing than the visceral thrills Scorcese and Tarantino give us? I don’t know. Nor do I know if it’s what Disney expected when they hired the notorious director to film it. But it’s definitely Lynch-world, though slightly on the fringe. Fringe-Lynch can be just as good, and just as bleak, as the real thing.

(p.s. Our well-wishes go out to Maggie’s family during these times of trouble. We sincerely hope her father is feeling better.)