Ben McKone
Contributing Writer
If there is one film that truly captures the experience of the late-late-late stage capitalist America in which we find ourselves, it is David Lynch’s “Eraserhead.” Filmed in 1977 on a shoestring budget by Lynch (then a film student) and a group of friends, the film follows Henry (played by Jack Nance), a young man seemingly always “on vacation” from his job, as he struggles with cultural alienation, his neurotic girlfriend and unexpected fatherhood. If nothing in that plot summary sounds particularly interesting or exceptional, that is because, quite frankly, it is not.
“Eraserhead” is not a film driven by plot. Largely dialogue free, it creates mood through its stark black-and-white cinematography, hollow, menacing sound design and aggressively grotesque imagery. Henry, a Chaplin-esque figure with wild hair and an ill-fitting black suit, inhabits what can only be called an industrial wasteland. There are seemingly no streets, stores, parks, cultural institutions or anything besides endless rows of throbbing factories, soundtracked with the distant echo of steam engines and the occasional crackle of electricity. Henry’s apartment is decorated solely by a framed photo of a nuclear explosion and a large pile of dirt. His only source of entertainment is watching his radiator, in which he sees visions of a bizarre woman with large cheeks performing a nightmarish vaudeville routine. To make matters worse, his girlfriend Mary has just given birth to a hideous, deformed creature, whose constant shrieking soon drives her off, saddling Henry with attempting to keep the thing alive.
From there, what happens in the film can quite accurately be described as anyone’s guess. Henry’s alienation and desperation grow, causing the titular dream sequence in which his head, fallen from the sky, is collected by a young boy and taken to a factory, where it is judged to be a suitable material for making erasers. Here, the film’s capitalist commentary comes into clearer focus. Henry, living as he does in a society made up solely of industry, feels worthless without a job. He states he is “on vacation” from his work as a printer, but this lengthy sabbatical is never explained, and seems to be more of a permanent vacation than not. As such, being a man with no interests and practically no personality, he is doomed to essentially lie dormant, privately lamenting the lack of use society has for him. His dream of becoming a manufacturing commodity shows his subconscious desire to become useful again; for his society to be able to extract value from him.
Perennially taciturn on the meaning of his films, writer-director Lynch has refused to elaborate on the film’s meaning, calling it only “a dream of dark and troubling things.” Few would disagree with this statement after watching the film, but for a view in the 21st century, these dark and troubling things may appear much closer than a dream. Henry’s sparse apartment, struggles with work and anxiety-driven flights of fancy are all too familiar for many readers of this article. In a society which only values him as a cog, he has fallen into disrepair and been ejected from the machine, leaving him rudderless. Watching “Eraserhead,” one sees not who we could possibly become, but who we already are.