Review: David Lynch's Blue Velvet (1986)

There is much that one could say about Blue Velvet, but there is something in David Lynch's work that is incommunicable. The film challenged all my notions of "knowing" about the movies. I recoiled, became attracted, was shocked, and sat with my reactions. Blue Velvet is a film that will put in you a swoon -- that is, if you can finish this film.

David Lynch's reputation precedes him; he's well-known for creating weird, artistic visuals and films that leave a person with a foreboding sense of doom. Blue Velvet destroys our sentimental notion of realism -- that a film should necessarily have something to do with "life as it is" -- and replaces it visceral, ugly subjectivity. Most people avoid excessive psychological states like fear, terror, and the pleasure from sadomasochism. Blue Velvet's entire purpose seems to be creating these feelings in the viewer. Truly, this is postmodern catharsis (the purgation of emotions through art).

Initially, I was repelled by the pseudo-B-movie visuals and style of the film. Images seem to be forced together merely for the purpose of being on the screen, such as idyllic 1950s America shots. Additionally, the acting seems inconsistent at times, and shots are edited together with seemingly inconsistent coloration. The elements should not work together. But taken as one whole, Blue Velvet coheres together in its emotional effect on the viewer.

David Lynch is still working in Hollywood, so it's promising that some people will hear out an artist's vision on her or his own terms. Blue Velvet demands your attention to every audio and visual detail. Of course, many directors have every frame and sound accounted for to further the story, but David Lynch does this while attempting to make this film a psychotropic drug for the soul. Blue Velvet is the bad trip you nevertheless need to take.

Here's a summary: after finding a human finger in a field, a naive young man (Kyle MacLachlan) investigates, getting himself involved in an evil underworld that lies beneath an idyllic 1950s-era American city called "Lumberton." He finds sadism and depravity so heavy that weirdness takes on its own twisted logic. We see suspenseful scenes with voyeurism, sex and gore. The final shot of an obviously fake bird chirping offers us little comfort.

The characters are indelible, especially Dean Stockwell's "Suave Ben," Dennis Hopper's "Frank Booth," and Isabella Rossellini's "Dorothy Vallens." The visuals are equally affecting: red roses, fire engine trucks, blue/purple velvet, close-up shots of bugs and sets from a parallel universe. Blue Velvet takes the concept "all the world's a stage" to places you never imagined. I'll never think of Roy Orbison in the same way.

Blue Velvet helps me understand the mind of great visual artists for whom words have less importance than images. I have seen innumerable audiovisual art displays at museums, and I can't remember a single one. David Lynch's Blue Velvet is what those people were trying to do but failed: to have an image that creates an emotional state directly, whether one feels awe, terror or contempt. Be patient with this film and you'll feel them all. Blue Velvet functions as two movies: you watching the movie, and you watching your reactions. The effect is undeniable.