David who?! Lynch?! Never heard of him - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

Raving about David Lynch has become fashionable since his recent passing, but we at The Chaff initially refused to jump on the bandwagon because we’d never heard of this character Lynch. Last week, Shawn Loughlin of Shawn’s Sense waxed poetic about this so-called “visionary.” Naturally, we had to investigate. Big mistake.

 

This Lynch character made a film called Eraserhead. Erasing heads? That’s not the kind of energy we need. Enhance minds, don’t erase them, Loughlin. What kind of sick mind even thinks of erasing heads? It’s deeply unsettling, and frankly, we’re worried about Shawn. 

 

And then there’s Dune. Sure, they say Lynch directed it, but we all know that credit belongs to Denis Villeneuve, Canada’s cinematic golden garçon. Why is Loughlin trying to erase the vital contributions of French Canadians? Très terrible!

 

And don’t get us started on Twin Peaks. Two peaks? Absolutely excessive. One peak is plenty. Half a peak, if we’re being honest, is more than enough for a sensible community like ours. 

 

Then there’s Lost Highway. Umm, have you tried looking for it? Besides, we all know that Lost Highway will be Doug Ford’s central plank in his upcoming sham election. It’s the perfect metaphor: endless detours, no clear destination, and an ever-present feeling of being hopelessly lost. A real visionary, that guy.

 

Wild at Heart? Sounds like someone skipped their annual cardiology checkup.

 

The Elephant Man? We prefer The ‘Elephant’ Woman - the story of a lady who loves the fourth studio album by The White Stripes.

 

On the other hand, Inland Empire surprised us. It’s somehow less cryptic than its title suggests. It’s a story that, shockingly, even your uncle Marty might enjoy. That’s assuming your uncle Marty has a taste for three-hour experimental meditations on identity and despair.

 

Art should mostly just be drawings of camels chewing bubble gum. Lynch has gone too far with his weirdness. His films are all about making us question everything, dragging us into bizarre, dreamlike worlds where nothing makes sense. A camel chewing bubble gum is much more relatable than anything he’s done.

 

And what about Lynch’s fondness for transcendental meditation? Encouraging people to sit still and quietly contemplate their connection to a deeper realm of consciousness is reckless. Calm, reflective people don’t buy tickets to Maroon 5 concerts. If Lynch’s followers had their way, Adam Levine would have no one to sing to. And frankly, we don’t want to live in that Trump’s America - or Canada, for that matter.

 

Lynch’s bizarre worlds? Simply, too much.

 

Or, on second thought, maybe… just enough.

 

Because here’s the thing: we’re starting to think we love him. Maybe we’re just trapped in one of Lynch’s films, and this whole column is an elaborate dream sequence. Did we write it? Did you write it? Is the smell of coffee wafting through the room, or is it just the ghost of Agent Dale Cooper reminding us that every damn fine cup comes with a side of existential dread?

 

Take Twin Peaks, for instance. Sure, we don’t agree with the two-peak structure, but can we deny the allure of that sinister, smoky jazz? Or the way Lynch transformed cherry pie into a portal to the soul? We criticize Lost Highway, but aren’t we all driving it, endlessly circling the same strange loop? Lynch showed us a world where the floor turns into zigzags, your neighbours are probably demonic, and a kindly log lady might hold all the answers. Surreal? Sure. Chaff-esque? Absolutely.

 

The more we think about it, the more we realize Lynch is exactly like us. He’s a contradiction. One moment he’s whispering sweet nothings about love, and the next he’s screaming about the crushing horror of existence. Just like The Chaff, he refuses to settle on a single identity. Are we a source of wisdom or nonsense? High art or lowbrow humour? Is Lynch a genius or a lunatic? Maybe he’s both. Maybe we are too.

 

We’ll admit, his work is unsettling. But perhaps that’s the point. As Lynch once said, “There is goodness in blue skies and flowers. But another force – a wild pain and decay – also accompanies everything.” Doesn’t that perfectly describe both the world we live in and the stories we tell?

 

Beneath the oddities, Lynch’s work represents a profound understanding of the human condition. He shows us the duality of life - the beauty and the pain, the light and the dark - and somehow makes them feel like one in the same. It’s uncomfortable, yes, but it’s also honest. His films aren’t just narratives; they’re reflections of our own complicated, contradictory existence. He makes us face what we’d rather not see, and for that, we owe him a great deal of respect.