LYNCH, MURAKAMI AND DARKNESS...

NOTE: If I start talking about Britishness, electoral reform or pornography (my previous posts) in the staffroom it will start a discussion. If, on the other hand, I start ranting about the works of Haruki Murakami, I will empty the staffroom! I know therefore that this is the self-indulgent post. Forgive me it and don’t unsubscribe! Some might find it of interest (possibly?!)



I was asked a great question at work last week – the sort that rather lends itself to imminent blogging. It went something along the lines of ‘how come you, despite being on your moral high horse (well that’s what he meant), are so drawn to darkness in movies and books?’. Interesting question – and slightly flattering as it frames me as deep and edgy. In reality, it doesn’t paint the whole picture – Back to the Future, Butch Cassidy and Chariots of Fire all have a claim at getting into my top ten... However, he does have a point.


The rather lesser trinity to which I subscribe would consist of film-maker David Lynch, writer Haruki Murakami and the band Radiohead. In each case, I don’t just appreciate their output, it matters deeply to me. Leaving music out of the equation for today, there is no doubt that a certain mood does indeed tie the more profound works of Lynch and Murakami – you may call it darkness, I call it emotional truth. The fact is they are really truly frightening, but in equal measure they are really truly beautiful. Quite often they are simultaneously both, bringing about a deeply intense viewing experience. Much of it is down to the opaque nature of the story-telling. Most people tie their stories up neatly, all questions answered. That’s not how life works. These guys don’t pander to the conventional narrative arc, and thus anything can happen in any given scene/chapter, whilst loose ties generally remain untied. In the same way people talk of opera bringing them to tears despite their ignorance of the language (a technique literally used in the ‘Silencio’ scene of Lynch’s Mulholland Drive), both Murakami and Lynch can profoundly move you with something you’ll never quite grasp - although each revisiting reveals a little more.


As for being drawn to darkness... well maybe it is partly attributable to my worldview. Christianity is certainly not all about the happy clappy – it carries within it acceptance of concepts such as Hell, demonic activity or the inevitability of sin. Neither do you have to be that way inclined to see the dark side all around. We all deal with the reality of crime, disease and, above all, the fact we’re heading for the grave. Many, understandably, deal with such weighty truths by escapism – enjoying happily ever afters. They have their place, but I often blanch at the inanity. Thus I admire output that seeks to engage with that darkness within and without, and that finds something to say about the battles fought. (Framed slightly differently, it probably suggests depressive tendencies, but let’s not go there!)


Spoiler alert! I’d like to briefly examine one work each of Lynch and Murakami, looking at what it has to say. My favourite book of all time is The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by the latter. It is hard to explain the vast and strange story in a few sentences, but the basic idea is that there is a deep darkness (right-wing nationalism, basically) running through the 20th Century, surfacing in key individuals capable of great evil. Toru Okada is a humdrum everyman in the Japanese suburbs, but his wife has vanished, and her brother, whom Toru hates, is somehow gaining in insidious power and national influence. Guided by various strangers, Toru will find his way, via a path to nowhere, toward the dried well of a cursed house, from which he can metaphysically visit another place; a hotel to which a familiar woman is calling him – a place in which he is in true danger, but where, in the pitch black, he can violently confront his nemesis before it is too late.


Of Lynch’s creations, the Wind-Up Bird hotel feels closest to the ‘other place’ in Twin Peaks. However, the film of his I feel most resonates is Lost Highway. I certainly wouldn’t recommend it to everyone – it is truly 18-rated in every way. However, it has a raw and visceral power in its dream-like logic. A married man, Fred, feels inadequate and consumed by sexual jealousy in his suspicion his wife is cheating. On some level he resolves to kill her, a fact symbolised by the appearance of a strange demonic man who, approaching Fred at a party, informs him he invited him there and that he is ‘in his house, right now’. That night, the wife is murdered. In his death row cell, Fred is unable to cope with the reality of his predicament and, in a schizophrenic escapist episode, literally becomes someone else. This doppelganger is everything Fred wasn’t – young, virile and irresistible to one particular strange and dangerous woman (apparently Fred’s wife, in a blonde wig). However, reality can’t be escaped; before long he is again guilty of murder and is again losing the girl (key quote: ‘you’ll never have me!’). The last moment of the film is the same as the first – there is truly no escape from this nightmare…


Both these pieces of work are deep and dark. I wouldn’t have them any other way. To differing extents, so are Jacob’s Ladder, Chinatown, Pan’s Labyrinth, No Country For Old Men, Blade Runner, Donnie Darko and most of my favourites. IF YOU KNOW OF A FILM I MIGHT NOT HAVE SEEN THAT WOULD BE EQUALLY GREAT PLEASE DO LET ME KNOW! I don’t know what I’m saying in this post, if anything. But, I tell you what, I’ve never seen a neater or more coherent summary of Lost Highway than that. Signing out smugly… (and still under 1,000 words)