 
Eraserhead is an enigmatic and truly
unsolvable film, whether you attempt to
decipher what is a dream and what is
reality, or simply attempt to understand
its message about spirituality... it's
clear that there is no right or wrong.
When it comes to David Lynch's 1977
masterpiece, what I'm interested in
beyond simply adding to the thousands of
theories about what Eraserhead stands
for is Lynch's techniques as a director.
More to the point today I want to
discuss how Lynch traps us, the audience,
and how he feeds our claustrophobia.
Throughout the run time, I believe that
Henry Spencer our titular character his
world and his life is a mirror to our
cinematic experience with this film. You
see, Eraserhead isn't all abstract and
dark. For the opening 20 or so minutes,
it's a pitch black comedy. This is where
Lynch seduces us and ultimately traps us
in this maniacal and bizarre world.
 
 
 
 
 
Whether it's the elevator taking an
eternity to close...
... or Henry's Charlie Chaplin-like
meandering stroll through an industrial
setting, it's clear that Lynch wanted to
ensnare the audience with deadpan
comedy somewhat akin to the silent era a
la Buster Keaton and the
aforementioned Chaplin... By enforcing
these gags, the audience immediately
becomes more invested waiting for the
next joke... except we never get it. Once
Lynch has us where he wants us, he
tightens his grip and suffocates us in
Henry's world. The reason that Lynch is
able to so seamlessly blend dreams and
reality together is because he has us,
the audience, in a trance under his
directorial spell. He achieves this by
tricking us into thinking that
everything is fine, and this is evidenced
throughout his filmography especially
the happy-go-lucky opening of Mulholland
Drive...
Eraserhead is no different, but once we
get to the dinner scene with Mary and
her parents, the entire construct of the
film changes... the tone is flipped. We have
multiple moments where characters
inexplicably scream as well as, you know,
a chicken bleeding on a plate.
Immediately any smirk or grin we may
have remains in utter discomfort or
simply vanishes, giving way to a look of
confusion and despair. From that point
onwards, the entire film never fails to
hook the audience member. Why?
 Because from the first gag leading into the
first sign of despair, Lynch has already
captivated us,  never relinquishing that
power over the audience. Lynch cranks up
a feeling of claustrophobia throughout
Eraserhead that begins with Henry's
apartment window. Our titular character's
lost in a mundane life, having to fend
for an unplanned child on his own.
Whenever he looks outside the window,
perhaps for some form of escapism, all we
see are bricks plastered against the glass.
Metaphorically speaking, this could of
course mean that Henry's life has
reached such a point of emptiness that
he can no longer naturally escape from
it. Yet, speaking from a visual
perspective, it feels as though Lynch is
also taunting the audience. He's
reminding us that we too are trapped
within the story and world. Any form of
escapism is no longer viable -- we simply,
much like Henry, have to play out the
remainder of the story with no control.
There is something to be said about the
sound design, too, sinister in its
construct. Wind constantly floats in the
background of every scene, particularly
recurrent in Henry's apartment.
What makes it terrifying is that Henry's
room is airless... there are no open windows,
nothing. It feels as though Lynch is
taunting us yet again, and Henry by
extension. Wind connotes freedom,
expression movement, yet Henry is devoid
of these three things -- and so are we
as audience members. Henry's only form of
escapism comes from the infamous Lady in
the Radiator. And what's deeply saddening
and melancholic about this is that his
only form of escapism stems from fantasy
and dreams. He cannot combat the
depressiveness of his life, literally.
Simply looking out the window is
impossible - he has to escape within his
own fragmented mind, the audience utterly
helpless and unable to offer a hand. The
increase of vegetation, for example in
Henry's room, throughout the runtime of
the film adds to the claustrophobia. As
his situation gets bleaker and his
supposed dreams darker, the room somehow
feels smaller. This is created through
Lynch's long close-up shots of Henry
juxtaposed with the unforgiving loudness
and portrayal of the crying baby. This
all simmers in the pot that is
Eraserhead, until it bubbles to a truly
wild finale. The buildup is what makes us
feel uneasy and these are the tactics in
which lynch deploys to make us feel that
way. Weirdly, though, there's a grotesque
beauty to Eraserhead and a genuine
charm too. It's why, despite the feverish
nightmare it portrays, we never fail to
feel a connection to it. Beyond all the
bizarre imagery and sounds, Lynch never
basks in the darkness of the picture. He
allows the audience just enough wiggle
room to feel. The Lady in the Radiator's
'In Heaven' song is hypnotic and soothing
almost like a lullaby in this nightmare.
Despite the horrific images we are
presented throughout the film, Lynch is
almost encouraging us to lose ourselves
deeper in this dreamlike landscape... and
it is there, in that precise moment, where
he traps us. Henry can never escape from
his reality. Every time he attempts to
leave his apartment, the baby cries and
turns sick. Lynch has his titular
character trapped. While he cannot escape
his world, neither can we, the audience,
escape this film. It remains burned into
our retinas, our mind. If you've watched Eraserhead, you clicked on this video
perhaps because it's a film that has
stuck with you since you watched it. You
have never escaped its entrancing
qualities. That's a testament to Lynch's
unrelenting direction.
 
 
