Eraserhead, 1977

Eraserhead is one of the classic films that cant be adequately remade. Crude props, lengthy spans void of dialogue, an absence of plot and the powerful but completely inconclusive ending can be applauded as a masterpiece of early filmmaking but wouldnt fly now. Every shot, from close ups of Mikes face to a bland, extended glance at his lamp, begs In what way am I important? What am I trying to portray that you dont see? Rarely are these questions answered, and when they are their ordinariness is bizarrely funny. For instance, when Mikes wife was weeping shaking his bed endlessly we assume her insanity only to find that she only wanted her suitcase. Theatrically but never tediously slow, Eraserhead invites the audience to revel in the mundane reality of one mans life and adds startlingly unreal events and characters until we adopt Mikes mildly petrified expression as our mental approach to the story. We are pulled through the film, rarely considering the lack of story because the images and sounds are so enticing. My mind worked through the film furiously, trying to put two and two together, when in fact no one aspect of the film can be decisively linked to another. The lack of dialogue made the film more powerful; the picture often overpowered by what would be nothing more than white noise were it not set at such an extraordinary volume. Although not grounded in reality, Eraserhead has a unique real-life aura that isnt found in many films that are supposed to be taken seriously. Trivial glances at character quirks, long conversations consisting of mere hellos and please sits are sprinkled through the film, begging to be taken seriously among their ludicrous peer events and eventually giving up by excusing themselves via dream and leaving us to figure out where dream began, reality ended, and if the dream ended or existed at all. Funny, confusing, beautiful and suggestive.

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