I just learned Freddie Francis died earlier this month. There are a handful of filmmakers and film artists I can point to and say they're the reason I've grown to love the movies as much as I do, and Freddie numbers among them.
It might sound a bit contrived (and, well, it was intended to be), but I remember so vividly the first time I saw Sandy (Laura Dern) step out of the pitch black streets of Lumberton, all a glow in innocence, wonder and love, and into Jeffrey's (Kyle MacLachlan, as the boy detective) world. I was in my girlfriend's room, during a typical snowbound winter afternoon, the smoke from pilfered cigarettes and awkward teenage flirtations hanging in the air, watching a copy of Blue Velvet I'd somehow managed to rent from our town's lone video store (they were mighty strict about film ratings and minors).
Anywho, from opening credits on I was enchanted by the movie's mannered perversity, goofy grace notes, and oh-so-real grotesqueries. But to me, and this might have been the most revelatory aspect, was the damned look of the thing. The movie was tumid with light and life. And it was Laura Dern, in her pretty pink outfit, standing under a street lamp, that brought a slow tingle of understanding of the greater magic that could be found in film. That was Mr. Lynch and Mr. Francis' doing, and for that I will be forever grateful.
Here's a nice obit from the Guardian Unlimited, which sheds some nice light on his directorial efforts as well.
(H/T to Lynchnet for the photos)
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