David Lynch 1946 – 2025

I can’t remember being so genuinely shocked and choked up at the death of a ‘celebrity’ as I was when I got the news alert on my phone that David Lynch had died. Maybe it was the promise of still so much to come from the man; or more probably that I had never ever thought about him dying. Lynch is irreplaceable. A one-off. It makes no sense that he’s not on our plane of existence any more. If indeed, he ever was.

My first exposure to his work was when a friend showed me Eraserhead on (a probably badly cloned) VHS tape. It was revelatory. I’d never seen anything so dark and yet so funny. The Elephant Man followed, another masterful piece. Then came Blue Velvet which laid down the template for much of his future work in film; dark horror juxtaposed with dark humour and an almost cheesy everyday Americana. 

When that friend and I got wind of a TV series by that same director, We sat and watched it as it broadcast for the first time in the UK on BBC2 on 23 October 1990. It was called Twin Peaks. We were hooked by the first few moments, and we both became Lynch devotees from that point forward. 

His films weren’t easy to find in the pre-internet era – not readily available on broadcast TV or rentable from the local Blockbuster, but slowly and surely we tracked them down: The unfairly maligned Dune, Wild at Heart, and later, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. We even managed to get hold of the short-run, forgotten TV shows On the Air and Hotel Room. 

Lynch continued to confound and delight on the big screen with Lost Highway, The Straight Story and Mulholland Drive. I’m yet to watch Inland Empire, half saving it to really savour, half in trepidation of its mixed reviews and three hour running time. But then came the transcendental Twin Peaks: The Return. In all seriousness, the closest thing I’ve had to a religious experience. 

Lynch wasn’t just a filmmaker of course – he was an artist, musician, author, actor and so much more. He even dabbled in comic strips; The Angriest Dog in the World was a four panel strip that ran in the LA Reader among others and contained the same four panels every day, but with different captions.

The fact that he was a fervently independent auteur only endears me to him more. He somehow achieved greatness – a devoted following, critical acclaim and respect – without compromising his artistic vision. I could go on, but I’ll leave this small tribute here – there are others far more qualified and articulate to speak to his unparalleled oeuvre, this impressive body of work infused with experimentation and surrealism that Lynch has generously left us with.

But without Twin Peaks – without David Lynch – there would be no Strangehaven, a project that has dominated my life these past thirty years. Rest in peace, David. Thank you for all the dreams. The world will not see the likes of you again.

Illustration based on a photograph by Dean Hurley.