David Lynch was a Boy Scout. An Eagle Scout, actually.
The mastermind of neo-surrealism, the visual poet whose name is now a style: he did shit like go camping and get merit badges out in Montana.
I learned this from randomly happening upon an issue of Eagles’ Call, a magazine by, for, and about Eagle Scouts. How specific. How strangely, appropriately Lynchian.
The interview is stupidly brilliant, begging the question if any sitting Boy Scout leaders have watched his work. For example.
I asked Lynch how he feels about creating characters that don’t exactly follow Scouting values.
“Films reflect our world. Ideas come from our world,” he says. “Our world is filled with characters that don’t reflect Scouting values, for sure. And stories are not all just shiny little pleasant tales. They involve all kinds of different characters, all different kinds of thinking. That’s what makes a story.”
Furthermore, Lynch cautions against assuming that someone who creates unstable characters is an unstable person.
“I always say the artist doesn’t have to suffer to show suffering,” he says. “You want to be happy in your work, but you can tell stories that have darkness swimming along with light. Have the suffering on the screen or in the books — not in your life.”
This, of course, was preceded by a note that Lynch’s work is along the lines of “TV-MA” material. Scandals, boys.
As a former Boy Scout who was one rank away from Eagle, I found this news and story to be lovingly ridiculous, the type of thing you learn and laugh at and then get secondhand embarrassment about. Imagine Lynch – Now. – as a Boy Scout. Imagine the trash person from Mullholland Drive taking the Oath Of The Arrow. Imagine Laura Palmer’s head being a troop historian. Imagine the rabbits getting merit badges. Imagine David Lynch as a Boy Scout.
That, really, is his finest artistic trick: being mundane, all American, boring.