Written by Matthew Thompsen. Graphic by Ananya Panchal.
This summer, I took Art in Adaptation on a whim. I needed to take at least two classes to get my scholarship, and there weren’t many options I found very exciting, so when a professor I liked said he would be teaching that class, I thought I might as well take it. He described the class as “letting us teach basically anything we want to,” and what he wanted to teach was David Lynch. Now, I’d never heard of David Lynch, but I figured it would be better than the astronomy class I had planned. I expected a somewhat bland class to fill out my elective slots; I ended up with a new favorite filmmaker.
David Lynch (1946-2025) was a surrealist filmmaker best known for his mystery/crime/horror series “Twin Peaks.” He became popular for his deeply experimental narratives. His films are often abstract, leaving large portions of the story up to interpretation. He also, famously, refused to explain anything about his films.
This made discussing and writing about his films very difficult. As we puzzled over thematic implications and possible symbolism, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were looking at it all wrong. What if all these elements were never meant to communicate a specific theme, but rather an abstract feeling?
One scene we discussed in length was the deer scene from “The Straight Story” (by far Lynch’s most sane film) in which a woman has a mental breakdown because she can’t stop hitting deer on her way to work. The strange part is that she only appears in that scene. She is never referenced before or after and seemingly has no relevance to the story. Regardless, the scene stuck in the minds of both me and my classmates, and we spent a good amount of time trying to understand what it meant.
Reflecting on it now, I think that it did not have any specific intended meaning but was rather something to add flavor to the story. Moments like the deer scene give stories texture, like a filter over a photo; even if it never comes back, it will influence how they view everything that comes after. This layering effect creates a richness of theme and character that would be near impossible to achieve otherwise.
In this digital age of short-form content, we are often pushed not to waste time, to get into the action right away, to cut away the fluff, and leave only what is necessary. But what if the fluff serves a purpose, even an indirect one? Who’s to say that the work isn’t better for detail, useless though it may seem? Is adding texture to a character, a story, a world not enough justification? As Lynch would want, I will leave that to the readers to decide.
