Eraserhead

Every time I watch this, I feel changed. The size of Eraserhead’s footprint is immeasurably large. There’s nothing like it before and new doors are opened after. So much of the movie examines the relationship between the interior and exterior. From the beginning we have a superimposed image of either a brain or planet and Henry’s head. A Father Time character introduces ambiguous dimensionality. The relationship of sameness and difference between interior and exterior is supported by the ever-present ambiance. Industrial humming pervades the outside and a plethora of noises persist in Henry’s apartment. The world of Eraserhead lies within the cracks in broken concrete sidewalks. Similarly, Henry’s world is filled with cracks, cracks to be peered into. You may find an abyssal darkness in a wall cubby or heat and light within the radiator. This is a disturbing world filled with troubles, but anchored by humans nonetheless. As such, they may still find sources of warmth like Henry does in the radiator. The dialogue we do hear is startling and inhuman in a way. There’s an early scene of Henry and his female neighbour. The dialogue is strained and nightmarish. At times it recalls the flatness of Bresson. While maybe not directly taking from him, it still effects a similar result by amplifying the space between the characters. Here, it creates a frightening uncomfortability. The space of the film is further contrasted by the black and white. It’s striking contrast cuts and defines, hides and reveals. It makes the film feel older than it is and comes from a place we do not know. It only adds to the alienness of the film. That’s one reason I think it’s so striking. We’re watching some alien interpretation of human life. But it’s not completely alien. There is a deep humanity running through this film. As if aliens had captured these humans and put them in this forgotten junkyard. Which is why they still hurt and feel like us. Henry is a deeply human character. He’s always thinking and feeling. He just happens to live in a nightmare world. Jack Nance’s iconic performance emulates facial scrutiny as a constant emotion. Early shots of Henry through this industrial moon planet show him as a wandering soul, but to be sure he is thinking. His mind is running. A great wide shot of him walking with a screen-filling building behind screams internal dialogue we do not hear. There is so much we don’t hear, for all the sound in the movie. In a way, the movie speaks through sound. It is very sensory-driven. All senses, even maybe smell depending on how gross you find certain things, are on full blast. The dirt pile on Henry’s nightstand, the skin of the baby, the mini chicken and its goop, the woman in the radiator’s cheeks are all examples of intensely felt textures. And that’s what Eraserhead is, intensely felt. It is evocative and provocative. It is eternal. A million questions when it’s over. And yet, it stays with you. Like the ugly crack in the world the movie lives in, so too will it embed itself in the cracks of your brain.