Director Report Card: David Lynch (1986)

4. Blue Velvet

Out of failure, arises opportunity. “Dune” left Lynch emotionally exhausted, yet he remained in contact with producer Dino De Laurentiis. Following the box office implosion of “Dune,” De Laurentiis promised to let Lynch make whatever he wanted next, as long as it could be done cheaply. Under these ideal conditions, Lynch would realize “Blue Velvet,” a script he had been writing on-and-off for years. “Blue Velvet” would truly be Lynch's critical breakthrough, causing a firestorm in the world of American film fans. It would establish what the David Lynch mood was, even more-so than the midnight movie fantasmas of “Eraserhead” or “The Elephant Man.” The creative and financial success of “Blue Velvet” would pave the way for the director's later, even more gushingly received works.

Welcome to Lumberton, North Carolina, a seemingly idyllic small American town. Student Jeffrey Beaumont returns home when his father has a stroke. While walking through a field, Jeffrey uncovers a very particular sight: A severed human ear. Jeffrey becomes obsessed with unraveling this mystery, which points towards lounge singer Dorothy Vallens, a local celebrity. With the help of Sandy, the daughter of the town police chief, Jeffrey sneaks into Dorothy's apartment. He discovers the singer is under the control of crazed criminal Frank Booth, who is forcing her into a sadomasochistic relationship. Jeffrey is soon drawn into the dark criminal underworld of Lumberton, questioning his own morals along the way.

The David Lynch aesthetic, as it existed up to this point, was defined largely by nightmarish surrealism and howling, industrial noise. With “Blue Velvet,” the director's obsessions would reveal themselves more clearly. The opening scene of “Blue Velvet” shows the perfect American small town, utterly dream-like in its “Leave to Beaver” sterility... Until Jeffrey's dad gets a water hose tangled in a bush, until he collapses. Until the camera peers under the dirt, at the writhing beetles below. It's a not exactly subtle metaphor for the way “Blue Velvet” reveals Lynch's fascination with the dark underbelly of American life. The film also features a woman in trouble, musical performances at a night club, billowing curtains, and a shot of headlights driving down a dark road. So many of the elements that define the David Lynch style came to the forefront here.

Two of Lynch's favorite subjects especially inform “Blue Velvet.” The movie is the crossroads were wholesome Americana and the darkness of film noir meet. Though ostensibly set in the modern day, Lumberton seems locked in the 1950s. The fashion, cars, music, and diners of “Blue Velvet” speaks to the decade of Lynch's adolescence. Lynch is obviously recalling an idyllic pop culture version of the 1950s, so pure and perfect it never could have actually existed. Yet he mixes this setting with a neo-noir story, a vicious criminal and a femme fatale and violence and brutality. In many ways, the two worlds of “Blue Velvet” are the two worlds so much of Lynch's work inhabits: The charm of the small town and the darkness of the human soul.

Ultimately, “Blue Velvet” is a story of innocence versus pure evil. Though in his twenties, Jeffrey Beaumont comes off as not more than a kid. He just loves the idea of a mystery, driven by a boyish curiosity to delve further into what is happening in Lumberton. Of course, he is totally unprepared for the depravity and danger he encounters. Sandy, his teenage love interest, is similarly wholesome. Together, they are so pure, that they can't even comprehend the wickedness of Frank Booth. The question “Blue Velvet” is asking is: Can all that's good – love and light – exist in the same world with cruelty and violence and hatred? How can we reconcile the best feelings we have with the horribleness we know exists all around us?

Jeffrey is also, clearly, based on Lynch himself. They dress similarly, with similar taste in cars, food, and music. When Jeffrey is charming Sandy with his oddball sense of humor, you can clearly see Kyle MacLachlan channeling his director. As Jeffrey journeys into the dark side – visibly symbolized by a descent down into the canal of the severed ear – he is pulled into a world of non-traditional sexuality. He is drawn to the sexual games Dorothy plays, as she's clearly the first woman to ever touch him. Yet he's disturbed by her sadomasochistic kinks. Meanwhile, Sandy is the purer, virginal love interest. She's introduced stepping out of a darkened lawn, wearing a brightly colored blouse, depicting her as the light in the darkness. As Jeffrey grapples with his feelings for Dorothy, he has to accept that he can act like Frank. He can hit Dorothy. There's darkness in every man. Seen through the lens of Beaumont being Lynch's most blatant author avatar, “Blue Velvet” becomes a story of Lynch unpacking his own hang-ups about sex and his own struggles with the ethics of the world.

“Blue Velvet” does not just point the way towards Lynch's future in its themes but in its visuals as well. As you'd expect from the title, much of “Blue Velvet” is characterized by a soft blue visual. Or the bright greens of freshly watered lawns. Yet this bright pure colors are predecessor to the dark, interior reds of Dorothy's apartment. Which are proceeded by a dark trip up a staircase in the dead of night for Jeffrey. While trailing Frank, trying to unravel the mystery, there's a brief shot of oil pumps casting their shadow on a building... This brings to mind the industrial hell of “Eraserhead,” further suggesting the dark path the protagonist is wandering down. You can occasionally hear some of that howling wind or strange noise in the background too, showing that the bad side of the tracks is never too far away.

As much as it seems “Blue Velvet” operates in shades of black-and-white, its moral compass is a very complicated one. Dorothy is not bad because she likes to get slapped around. She is deeply traumatized, abused by a horrible man. Ultimately, she is motivated by the love of her child. She is the first of several Lynchian Women in Trouble. (A key sequence in the film, and Dorothy in general, was inspired by a real life traumatic memory from Lynch's childhood.) Jeffrey is not without sin either. After all, he sneaks into Dorothy's house in the first place. He repeatedly goes back to a woman he knows is deeply troubled because she has sex with him. Mistakes are made.... Yet love forgives all. Sandy accepts Jeffrey back, when she discovers the affair. Dorothy's son still leaps into her arms. “Blue Velvet” depicts a harsh, difficult world but it's also one where there is always hope, as long as the robins bring love back to the garden.

No matter how hopeful “Blue Velvet” ultimately is, there's no denying that a sense of dread infects many of its sequence. “Blue Velvet” feels a lot like a horror film at times. Jeffrey's long night out with Frank is bristling with unease, as intense violence and disturbing aberrant behavior is only seconds away from breaking out. Disturbing nightmare sequences, involving distorted voices and faces, play several times. None of “Blue Velvet's” scenes are more horrifying than the introduction of Frank Booth. Beaumont watches from Dorothy's closet, the viewer often assuming his voyeuristic point-of-view. He sees Booth huff his amyl nitrate and assault Dorothy in increasingly bizarre ways. Simply put, even after seeing the movie multiple times, it always feels like I have no idea where the hell this moment is going. It's a scene that still feels dangerously unhinged and horrifying.

Which brings us to Frank Booth, maybe “Blue Velvet's” most lasting contribution to the world of cult cinema. After years in a drug-fueled haze, Dennis Hopper would funnel all that demented, uncontrollably chaotic energy into Frank. Booth uses the word “fuck” compulsively, the only character in the film to swear that way. The smallest acts, like talking about beer or simply looking at him, provokes him to violence and intimidation. While he's never less than terrifying, Frank is somehow more complicated than that. In his sexual games with Dorothy, he assumes the vulnerable persona of “Baby,” as opposed to the violent, raging “Daddy' he usually plays. (Keep in mind, this was years before stuff like DD/lg or babying kinks were anywhere near the mainstream.) Music brings him to tears, locking him into an almost child-like trance of total emotion. In some bizarre way, Frank does love Dorothy. Frank Booth is a raging monster and yet he also has more layers than that... Which only makes him more frightening.

As always, there is a freewheeling sense of the absurd in “Blue Velvet.” Even in a more accessible work like this, Lynch's film clearly runs on a certain dream logic. There are indelible images in this movie. Like a man with a bloody head wound standing perfectly still. Or, my personal favorite, Dean Stockwell's totally inexplicable sing-along to Roy Orbison's “In Dreams.” Scenes like this clarify “Blue Velvet's” film noir plot as nothing more than a delivery system for Lynch's staggeringly original images. There is even an odd sense of humor at play here. Frank Booth's notoriously profane dialogue has become so highly quotable for a reason, as it's often hilarious when divorced from context. “Blue Velvet” shows Lynch utilizing the absurd to both amuse and horrify, even within the groundwork of a recognizable genre.

“Blue Velvet” would bring another important collaborator Lynch's way. Obviously, music is hugely important in this film. It's named after a song, the dueling sappiness and underlining unease of Bobby Vinton's titular number informing the entire atmosphere. Isabella Rossellini performs it several times as a sensual, purring come-on. Above all that is Angelo Badalamenti's score. Truthfully, it's become impossible to separate Lynch's cinematic worlds from Badalamenti's music. The slinky jazz style heard in many scenes, almost a parody of stereotypical noir scores, is unforgettable for how easily it establishes a particular mood. Yet Badalamenti's music is not all kitsch. There's throbbing, ambient noise all throughout “Blue Velvet,” pumping up the unease whenever the film requires it. There's absolution too, in the form of the heavenly vocals and cleansing synth strings of Julie Cruise's “Mysteries of Love,” the vocal theme song of the film.

Honestly, there's a lot of elements of “Blue Velvet” that shouldn't work. The film's retro aesthetic borders camp at times and its symbolism is on-the-nose and obvious. Yet the heartfelt emotions Lynch and his cast brings to his story; and the pure bravado filmmaking on display in the visual, aural, and narrative departments here; makes the film a towering masterpiece of 1980s cinema. Though somewhat divisively received in 1986 – Roger Ebert famously hated it and he wasn't the only one – the film's reputation has only grown with time. While not my favorite of Lynch's movies, it is without a doubt his most influential. It still has the power to stun, unnerve, and ultimately leaves the viewer with a phenomenal sense of catharsis. [Grade: A]