The Canadian Cinephile’s Reviews

David Lynch’s Blue Velvet is a film about that which is hidden, that which lurks beneath the fair and exciting surfaces of our lives. When the layers are peeled back and the raw material of humanity is revealed, the combination of beauty and ugliness is distressing. By using film noir elements and a standard hero mystery set-up, Lynch’s 1986 movie explores the substance of humankind in what the director and writer considers his most personal piece.

Blue Velvet began to plant itself in Lynch’s mind as early as 1973, with formations of the basic sense gathering in his consciousness. He spent two years writing two drafts, but wasn’t overly impressed with either one. Lynch has said that the two drafts had all of the spitefulness of the film, but nothing else. The final piece, therefore, contains an appropriate and alluring combination of ugliness and amiability, formulating a marvelous tone that would grow to become a David Lynch trademark.

Kyle MacLachlan stars as Jeffrey Beaumont, a young man who returns home from college after his father suffers a stroke. After visiting him in the hospital, Jeffrey comes across a human ear in a vacant lot and, being the good ol’ boy he is, takes it to the police.

Detective John Williams (George Dickerson) takes on the case and, after talking the case over at Detective Williams’ house, Jeffrey meets Sandy Williams (Laura Dern). Sensing Jeffrey’s curiosity, Sandy tells him what she has heard about the ear and a suspicious woman, Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini), who may be connected to the strange situation.

Not content to simply wonder about the ear and Dorothy Vallens, Jeffrey concocts a plan to sneak into her apartment and observe her. Sandy wonders if Jeffrey is simply being a pervert or if he has other motivations, but she assists him nevertheless. In the apartment, Jeffrey is caught by Dorothy, who becomes aroused by the young man’s voyeurism. Before their encounter can go any further, they are interrupted by Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper) and Jeffrey hides in the closet.

Lynch operates things brilliantly, constantly upping the ante and increasing the amount of anxiety. The arrival of Booth notches up the sexual tension and turns things suddenly brutal, as he inflicts cruelty on Dorothy. Jeffrey soon discovers that things are much more complicated than he ever thought possible and is thrust into the world of crime, drugs, and sociopathic behaviour. For a host of reasons, Jeffrey becomes drawn to Dorothy and is eager to save her. At the same time, he falls in love with Sandy.

There are countless approaches to take in regards to the material. Some view the triangle as evidence of a sort of Oedipal family, with Frank’s aggression and violence as an expression of the abuse within several families. Jeffrey’s inclination towards Dorothy is, consequently, a slight inference as to how a son might feel about his mother experiencing such ill-treatment. Perhaps the light tones that sandwich the picture serve to betray our trust, almost like a father’s regret after a particularly fierce cycle of brutality.

Another possibility is to put more of the “blame” on the character of Jeffrey. He is the voyeur; he is the unsolicited caller in the dominion of this circle of criminals. While it is true that Dorothy appears to be held captive by these men on the surface, we only have Jeffrey’s view to trust. He is in almost every scene and his angle is the only one Lynch grants us. It is possible, hence, that Jeffrey betrays us. And, with his perfidy, it is probable that Jeffrey wants Dorothy for himself and is enticed by the sense of jeopardy and sadomasochism in which she exists.

The other approach is the rational approach. With Lynch admitting to Jeffrey being somewhat autobiographical, perhaps it is accurate to suppose Jeffrey is telling us the truth. In other words, the narrative is proper, Frank Booth is immoral, and Dorothy is the Damsel in Distress. Sandy is the associate on the side, the “true love,” and Dorothy is the sense of danger that imposes itself in the middle of Jeffrey’s faultless cosmos. Of course, we have Jeffrey’s nosiness to contend with. He could have simply left things alone. Myself, I think I would have walked straight past that fucking ear…

The performances here are all excellent. Isabella Rossellini’s devotion to Dorothy Vallens is so soul-emptying that Roger Ebert found himself unable to stomach it, going so far as to reprimand Lynch for forcing the poor woman to go through the shit she did for the role. She is gloom personified, a broken and trampled woman whose soul has long since left this earth. In the hands of Frank Booth, she finds existence and death, ache and bliss, shock and ease. Rossellini’s incarnation of these principles is stellar.

Dennis Hopper’s Frank Booth is petrifying in his psychosis, his abruptness, and his frenzied temperament. He visibly has a host of mental issues (or does he?) and imbibes a substance through a mask and an oxygen tank (the drug was, according to Hopper, supposed to be amyl nitrate, although Lynch’s script called for helium). As the central figure in Lumberton’s criminal underworld, Booth’s confused characteristics guide him through his existence. He switches back and forth between a “daddy” and “baby” facade in a night with Dorothy, forcing her at moments and warmly engaging her at others. But Booth’s entire existence is based on misuse and ignominy, as he repeats his line “Don’t you fucking look at me” as if to time a divine getaway.

Kyle MacLachlan is the third component to the triangle. His character is the most compelling simply because we are never quite sure as to his pure motives. Is he really a Saviour or is he really, as Sandy initially suspects, some kind of pervert? Jeffrey’s voyeuristic nature exposes a world that, like the bugs crawling underneath his father’s sod, is unsightly and upsetting. But he almost longs for it, as MacLachlan guides his character with a sense of ailing curiosity. He makes no attempts at getting away, instead regularly knocking on Dorothy’s door. The kicker is when he slaps her.

The music of Blue Velvet is in on the infidelity. Lynch uses Bobby Vinton’s cut of “Blue Velvet” as a guide post, setting up the virtue on the surface with the sweet notes of the tune. Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams” makes an appearance as well, once again betraying the audience with its sweet sounds as appalling incidents lurk beneath the surfaces. Perhaps to remind us that nothing is all that blameless, the soundtrack exists not only to guide the events of the movie or set the tone. It exists on a whole other level, playing a character in and of itself.

Lynch’s Blue Velvet is a masterpiece and stands as one of my favourite films of all time. The performances go beyond the boundaries of ordinary acting and mine the depths for something truly exceptional and extraordinary. Lynch asserts himself persistently, forming a sense of blackness and murkiness over the film as its chasm of incongruity ever widens. Blue Velvet is, then, the decisive betrayal.

10/10

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