(RIP) David Lynch passed away

basso · Jan 17, 2025

Cinemalover: would

The Captain · Jan 17, 2025

mtbrays said: ↑

The story Bill Hader tells in this story about a guy watching The Elephant Man in a theater made me laugh way too hard this morning:

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That wasn’t funny at all.

mtbrays · Jan 17, 2025

Xerobull said: ↑

That wasn’t funny at all.
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Subjectivity!

mtbrays · Jan 17, 2025

Lynch's anti-littering PSA

GRENDEL · Jan 17, 2025

FrontRunner · Jan 17, 2025

mtbrays said: ↑

Lynch's anti-littering PSA

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Awesome.

tallanvor · Jan 17, 2025

tallanvor · Jan 17, 2025

LosPollosHermanos · Jan 17, 2025

One of the best guitarists of all time, loved him in Dokken even though i wasn't alive to witness it

Bandwagoner · Jan 17, 2025

Commodore · Jan 18, 2025

Buck Turgidson · Jan 19, 2025

mtbrays said: ↑

Lynch's anti-littering PSA

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Didn't he do the weather on some random Cali station, and then would just describe what he was doing that morning?

Buck Turgidson · Jan 19, 2025

peleincubus said: ↑

RIP sir. He made a lot of memorable scenes.

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Lost Highway, and "this guy" was the only Lynch movie that really kinda weirded me out:

ryan_98 · Jan 22, 2025

Heartfelt letter by Laura Dern. It's too long to post the whole thing.

As I sit here frozen, trying to put words to all that I feel about David Lynch on his birthday, I keep thinking that it’s too soon — too soon to express what I’m feeling, all while heartbreak surrounds us in our city right now.

Too soon to navigate through this grief or to sum up art’s greatest dreamer, as well as my dearest friend. As I think about how he lived, by truly diving into the unconscious, I reflect on his book “Catching the Big Fish” and how he wrote that catching ideas was like fishing. The extraordinary Isabella Rossellini (who I share in this life, thanks to David) recently reminded me that David always considered ideas like fragments that come to us and that by trusting them, we follow those ideas “like a seed.” So today, David, on your birthday, I will write you a love letter of fragments. Like meditation, I will remember our story by allowing all the delicious, awe-filled moments to float in, and I will try to reach toward them.

You leave us amid utter brokenness in our city, our beloved Los Angeles, the place we both called home. I know you were worried for everyone’s heartbreak and loss, and yet still, like your films, while horror is happening, you always believed in the light and the goodness in people and held hope for our city and all those who live here. It somehow doesn’t shock me that gratitude and despair are so closely aligned at this moment for our city and our loss of you — a genius who gave us not only some of our most iconic imagery and impacted our dreams but also forever wove Los Angeles into them.

Artistically, I found my person in you. Well, you found me. At age 17, I walked into a casting office in 1985 to meet you for “Blue Velvet.” You were the most unique and light-filled person I had ever seen. And you instantly felt like my family. We had a conversation that included topics as varied as “The Wizard of Oz,” Bob’s Big Boy, turkey sandwiches on white bread, transcendental meditation (which you guided me to, as you have done for so many around the world) and then, of course, we discussed our shared love of Los Angeles...

On “Blue Velvet,” you took me and Kyle MacLachlan under your wing and treated us as essential collaborators. Your deep inclusion of us as partners and peers profoundly shaped us both. You believed in the ritual of art and the grace that deserves to be given to it. My first memory of this was a warm wind floating over us on a Wilmington, N.C., summer night where you played Shostakovich while we filmed so we could understand the feeling of mystery you longed for. You and Kyle introduced me to the chicken walk.

As we sat together in Sandy’s childhood bedroom on “Blue Velvet” and you demanded perfect quiet to honor an emotional moment because you were happy with the take, you looked at me with such love and said, “Beautiful, Tidbit.” And I asked you, “Why did you call me Tidbit?”

And you said, “Because you’re a tidbit — a little bit of tid.” And I agreed: “Then that makes two of us.”

You taught me about using music as a muse and took me to a Texas sunset in the desert, where Nicolas Cage and I exploded to Powermad’s speed metal song “Slaughterhouse,” which then transitioned into love bursting open with Richard Strauss’ “Im Abendrot.”

I remember sitting with you in that hotel bar in downtown L.A. on “Twin Peaks: The Return.” We were about to shoot a moment where my character, Diane, was pulled toward a room upstairs, where she would express her story in monologue and experience deep horror. What struck me with such awe, as I sat, cigarette in hand, was how much you cared about Diane’s journey — how much you loved her and were willing to stay with her. I expected you to cut straight to the hotel room, but no.

“We will be with you every step of the way,” you whispered. “We will be at the bar. We will go to the elevator. And we will travel with you up to the 11th floor while you walk down the hall to that door. You can’t make the decision until you’ve made it and we will be there ready for you, whenever it feels true.” The respect for character, the magic you brought to the story and the truth that you demanded we find in even the most extreme or absurd places opened my eyes, not to the surreal or even unique individualism in your art but to your humanism.

I remember staring at you with your yellow legal pad in a Paris hotel lobby while we drank cappuccinos and you wrote that four-page monologue for my character in “Inland Empire.” Then we ran down to the Monoprix to find the perfect shade of red lipstick. No one has taught me more about lipstick shades than you. You actually mixed colors together to create a color of a yellow lip for “Twin Peaks.” (You were shocked it hadn’t existed before.) You cared so much to take 15 minutes to get a character’s lip color just right. You would repaint a hallway just so it was perfect for a moment. And when I say repaint, I mean you, yourself, with a paintbrush.

So back to the red lips of “Inland Empire” and us filming. Just you and me and a Sony PD150. An experience I will treasure forever. We finished the scene and felt so happy. Proud of myself, I sat down to enjoy a treat: the macaron on the bedside table that housekeeping must have left in the room we were filming in. As this pink delicacy was halfway down my gullet, you screamed out, “Tidbit, that’s the prop! We still need to shoot a closeup from another angle.” After that, you always said, “You gotta watch that Tidbit. She eats the props.”...

You were always the kindest inventor, always listening, always excited. Every day was of equal value. If we lost a location, you would start building a new set to use. If the weather was a problem, you would say, “Even better.” Everything to you was some universal conspiracy to make the art that much more true. My mother (Diane Ladd, whom you gave me the luxury of acting alongside) reminded me the other day, “David wasn’t just kind. He never seemed angry. And he never cursed — ever. He just made us do it in his movies all the time.”

I’ve had the privilege of watching your incredible children grow up, and you have loved and embraced mine. I remember when my Ellery was 4 and he found a penny on the road and asked me why David Lynch was on the penny. And when I explained that was Abraham Lincoln, he only called you Abraham Lincoln throughout his childhood.

Through you, I’ve learned what it means to be loved without judgment, just pure acceptance. You have forever transformed all of art, be it film or music or painting or cartoons or giving the weather report — all of it became a space for dreaming. All of it brought you equal joy and creative bliss and was led in the moment by deep instinct and creative consciousness. You made art every day because you had to. You meditated every day as a dedicated act of service. You lived in gratitude and grace. You never knew bitterness. In life, you always felt lucky.

I remember walking offstage linked arm and arm with you at the Governors Awards where you had just received your honorary Oscar. I looked at you and said, “Tidbit, you just won an Academy Award.” And you said, “But they aren’t my ideas, I’m just lucky to catch them.”

What a miraculous journey you continue to unfold for me. I love that when you left, you were planning your next great adventure. I will miss and love you for the rest of my life.
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https://www.latimes.com/entertainme...lynch-blue-velvet-wild-at-heart-inland-empire

clos4life · Jan 24, 2025

I guess we'll never see the director's cut to the greatest Dune ever filmed. Can we get a post-humous release?

The Captain · Jan 25, 2025

clos4life said: ↑

I guess we'll never see the director's cut to the greatest Dune ever filmed. Can we get a post-humous release?

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There is nothing humorous about this masterpiece, sir.

clos4life · Jan 25, 2025

Xerobull said: ↑

There is nothing humorous about this masterpiece, sir.
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It is a masterpiece indeed, I just wanted to see more of it's glorious vision as the director intended.

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(RIP) David Lynch passed away

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