In 1967, when he was only 21 years old, the late David Lynch moved to Philadelphia with his pregnant wife, Peggy. The city would change him forever. He moved into a cheap house in a poor, crime-ridden neighborhood. He also felt he wasn’t ready to be a father, even though he loved his daughter, Jennifer, very much. In the book of interviews “Lynch on Lynch,” the filmmaker said Philadelphia was a city of fear. People regularly broke into his house and his car was stolen. “There was violence, hatred and filth,” he said. He took a job as an engraver and his thoughts turned dark.
From 1967 to 1970, Lynch began directing his first short films, including “Six Men Getting Sick” and “The Alphabet.” The first was to be projected on a specially sculpted screen, made by Lynch himself, with six human figures emerging from the wall. Around the same time, the American Film Institute was founded and Lynch felt it was a great way to get funding for additional film projects, as well as get involved with the Center for Advanced Film Program studies. The AFI, according to Lynch’s recollection, was still organizing at the time and seemed poorly constituted. Lynch eventually received funding from the AFI to make his short film “The Grandmother”, which he shot in his own home. However, while making “The Grandmother,” he learned that the AFI Conservatory rarely monitored him and did not seem to demand any results. We just gave him some money and he was free.
This philosophy, he discovered, would be carried over into his first feature film, “Eraserhead.” Lynch received a scholarship and was allowed to work at his own pace. A perfectionist, Lynch photographed slowly and meticulously. Money was often lacking. Breaks were taken. Filming on “Eraserhead” began in 1972. It would not end until 1977.
David Lynch was essentially left alone by the AFI to direct Eraserhead
Lynch didn’t much like the AFI as an organization, but when offered the chance to direct any storyline he wanted without any interference, he jumped at the chance. He presented a 21-page script to senior executives, and they were baffled when he assured them it was a feature film, not a short. The school’s dean, Frank Daniel, insisted that Lynch be allowed to succeed and even threatened to resign if funding was not secured. The screenplay was inspired by Lynch’s affection for Franz Kafka, as well as the short story “The Nose” by Nokilai Gogol. But more than anything, Lynch was inspired by his miserable time in Philadelphia, speaking of the big city as being full of hatred and soot. Not the warmest place for a kid born in Missoula, Montana.
The film was Lynch’s first masterpiece, “Eraserhead”. It followed a worried-faced man named Henry Spencer (Jack Nance) who lived in a nightmarish industrial hellscape. Her window faces a brick wall and her apartment is dark and creaky. The pipes whistle and the radiator beckons with its warm inner glow. He has a girlfriend named Mary (Charlotte Stewart), but they never see each other. Henry goes to Mary’s family for dinner, and the Cornish hens come to life – and bleed – when he cuts them. There’s also a baby, although no one ever knows for sure that it’s actually a baby. In time, Mary and Henry move into Henry’s apartment with the baby, who looks like a small skinless animal wrapped in bandages. Lynch has always been coy about how he constructed the baby for “Eraserhead,” but fans have long speculated that it was made from a fetal lamb.
Lynch toured “Eraserhead” on and off for years, taking breaks of several months throughout production. The money would run out, so he would have to supplement the financing from his own pocket, that of Sissy Spacek (who was married to the film’s production designer, Jack Fisk), and other friends. Production has started. And so on. The work has started. It stopped. Lynch worked when he could.
After five years, Lynch’s Eraserhead was finally finished
Nance, the story goes, never knew when, during the five years of filming, he would be called upon to play Henry, so he kept his hair styled at all times. During those five years, Nance traveled around Los Angeles with her six-inch-high coif.
It was also rumored that Lynch would blindfold the projectionists who ran the film’s dailies so that he could maintain the mystery of the baby’s special effects. There was no way this could have speeded up the process.
Then, after four years of filming, Lynch teamed up with sound designer Alan Splet to create the film’s unique industrial hums and groans. No movie is quite like “Eraserhead.” It’s like being in the womb or being trapped at the bottom of the water. It’s terrifying and comforting at the same time. The sound design was so meticulous that it took an entire year to complete. Eventually, after all the filming, delays and editing, Lynch released a 109-minute version of the film.
Predictably, it was poorly received by test audiences and Lynch deleted 20 minutes. He also mixed it to be a little quieter, believing that many audiences were overwhelmed by all the moans and hisses. Armed with the now-familiar 89-minute edit, Lynch was finally ready to unveil the film to audiences. It was March 1977. Lynch recounted how the AFI, when they found out that Eraserhead was finally going to be released, was surprised that their project was still alive. He had somehow forgotten Lynch existed.
No one, however, will ever be able to forget “Eraserhead.” It’s a true nightmare, a look into Lynch’s deepest fears. It was also a dark mirror of his time in Philadelphia and, many have said, a portrait of his anxieties about being a new father (which Lynch denied). The film took five years to make, but it was worth the wait.
