“A brother’s a brother.”
I was twenty when The Straight Story hit theaters and I skipped it. Lynch was already a fascination of mine but in my arrogance I assumed it was nothing more than a Disney funded cash grab for an artist who struggled to get films made for so long. The Straight Story remained my lone Lynch blind spot throughout my life until very early in 2020 when I decided to watch it on Disney Plus. We were just beginning our Covid quarantine and the thought was, why the hell not?
I’m glad I did because my younger self needs reminders to pass back to my current self that not only did I not know everything, I knew very little — still do but at least I can acknowledge it these days. For the purpose of this project, I rewatched the film this week and managed to mine even more from it — a hallmark of great art.
The Straight Story tells the true story of Alvin Straight, and elderly man who makes a 370 mile journey on his riding lawnmower in order to visit his estranged and suddenly ill brother. That’s it and that’s all we need to know. The magic of the film is all in the relationships Alvin forms on his journey and how we come to better understand him as a human being.
When I was twenty and too busy ignoring this film, I did so because it seemed to not be aligned with anything else Lynch had ever done. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. This is right in line with the themes of love and hope that Lynch has always enjoyed exploring. He’s not as weird and obtuse as he initially seems, he just sees the world for how it really is — weird and obtuse. Lynch loves small town America and the stories hidden within these towns. There is a real beauty to the run down and forgotten because these things were not always this way. They were once new and adored and everything has a story attached to it. The music and cinematography combine to implant this idea deep in our brains. The music is pure Americana and the cinematography moves at the speed of Alvin’s tractor — a brilliant touch. I just noticed this aspect of the film earlier this week. What this does is lend the film a feeling that we’re watching a slide show of a land we have long forgotten. Reminders are always helpful, especially with how wrapped up in our current state we are. The other aspect of small town America Lynch has always nailed is how the residents interact with each other. The stubbornness and bitchiness of elderly people who’ve known each other for decades is very funny and prevalent throughout the film — hell, they even acknowledge it.
Lynch really gets to the heart of the idea of family in this film as well. When Alvin’s daughter receives the phone call about his brother Lyle, the camera slowly pushes in on Alvin’s face and the moment he hears his brother’s name, filmmaking magic. Alvin then lies to his daughter about his doctor’s visit because he knows she will worry herself sick over him and this is another aspect of family: the little lies we tell to loved ones to make them feel better. Rosie asks Alvin what the doctor said and he replies, “He said I’m gonna live to be a hundred.” The smile it produces on his daughter’s face is worth the lie.
The film, as a whole, is a spectacular depiction of the trivial wedges we allow into our lives and how these wedges work deeper and deeper until the gap is larger than we ever thought possible. The film is also about the purity of the human spirit and (again) how love, unabashed love, can conquer the worst. In the end, it doesn’t matter because when you share a deep familial bond, no wedge can break it away in totality. I wish we all spent a little more time in the present and allowing ourselves to be reminded of these things. The film helps us along the way by opening and closing on a starry night sky. Lynch’s characters often look to the sky and I think it’s his way of reminding us that space unites us all. We are all small beings in the context of our universe and nothing out there cares about the minuscule things we moan and groan about. We are all common in the grand scheme.
This all builds up to the final scene and the big payoff of Alvin arriving at his brother Lyle’s house. What a final scene it is. Sparse dialog and a river of history sit between these two men. They have been as close as two people could be and as far away as two people could be. They are two old men with anger that long ago turned to regret hovering between them. Near wordlessly, they once again accept and bask in each other’s love. I love this film and it has grown to mean a lot to me for reasons that are my own. It also stands as one of Lynch’s greatest works and I cannot wait to watch it again.
Next week, Mulholland Drive. Until then, love each other.
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