The Exorcism of Jen Lynch

Fifteen years have passed since Jennifer Chambers Lynch released Boxing Helena, arguably the most problematic debut film of all time. It was originally slated to star Madonna as the mutilated object of a demented surgeon’s affection, but was later recast with Kim Basinger when Andrew Lloyd Webber threatened to revoke her starring-role in Evita. When Basinger later pulled out at the insistence of one of her handlers, a front-page court battle ensued, ending in the bankruptcy and eventual divorce of Basinger and then-husband Alec Baldwin. Lynch was only 23 when the backlash reached boiling point. She was unfairly attacked in the media as a hack, and worse, for being the hack whose father was cinematic icon David Lynch. Compelled to create Helena’s world of misplaced adulation and amputation by a car accident that destroyed her spine, she felt doubly punished when the film was released to frigid reviews and “audience venom.” After a series of life-changing events, Lynch sought refuge in the abuse of alcohol and drugs. Now sober, walking and demon-free, the controversial filmmaker comes out of hiding with this month’s deliciously amoral thriller Surveillance, a triumphant comeback in every sense of the word.

It must feel incredible to release Surveillance after a 15-year hiatus and be so well received by critics and audiences. You recently became the first female to win the award for Best Director from the New York City Horror Film Festival.
Isn’t that awesome? The only award I’d ever won before was a Razzie [for Worst Director, in 1994], so imagine my thrill when I received something that meant people actually liked my work.

Is “comeback” the right word?
If I were to get nostalgic and be really honest with you, I’d say homecoming. I know that sounds corny and reminds everyone that I have a uterus, but it’s true. I had no idea that Boxing Helena was going to turn into a crazy court battle and I certainly never expected the venom that was thrown at me by viewers. Since its release, I got pregnant, raised a daughter on my own, sobered up and had three spinal reconstructions. There was a moment when doctors said I might never walk again and I realized, even if that were true, that I still wanted to tell stories.

Were your alcohol and drug dependencies made worse after the release of Boxing Helena?
Absolutely everything contributed. I was in a car accident that destroyed every curve in my back, so I was definitely self-medicating. I was so tender, too, because I had done something that I enjoyed—I made a movie—and I felt punished for that.

It’s as if you were doubly punished because it was the car accident that prompted you to write Boxing Helena in the first place.
I don’t look at myself as any sort of victim or martyr. There are all sorts of reasons to self-medicate. Ultimately, I reached a point when it occurred to me that there was something wrong: I was dragging my daughter around on a towel behind my legs, while I crawled on all fours from one room to the next. I had invited her into the world and it was my duty to make her feel welcome, and I had to stand up and do that properly. After three consecutive surgeries, I’m now made of cadaver bone and titanium bolts, but I’m walking. I became determined, finally, to lead the best life possible—for myself and my family—while pursuing the darker ideas I wanted to explore.

I’m interested in those darker ideas. The combination of isolation, desperation and deceit manifest in Surveillance makes it seem otherworldly, but, for all intents and purposes, it’s a normal small town—without any moral barometer. It’s an unexpected place to escape to in your imagination.
I grew up in a really happy home, but I’m curious about the darker side. My father grew up in the most perfect home in the world—it literally had a white-picket fence. Everyone ate three meals a day, surrounded by one another at the table, and so, innately, it made sense to me that he was drawn to the dark side. As a child, I was given incredible permission to explore whatever I wanted, as long as that exploration didn’t bring harm to someone else. What makes humans so exceptional is that we’re capable of both good and bad, and our intelligence allows us to choose between the two.

Bill Pullman and Julia Ormond are monsters in this movie, but they seem very much in love.
Exactly! I said to both of them: I want you to write a love note to each other, a goodbye love note that you can each keep in your back pocket, just in case something goes wrong. Whoever snuck into your bedroom at night and hurt you, each of you, those are the monsters you’re creating right now. Rather than avoid them, I want you to become them.

I can’t help but think that Boxing Helena—specifically Sherilyn Fenn’s truncated, mutilated body—must have somehow reflected where you were at that time, after your accident. Does Surveillance signal where you are now, as a woman, a mother and a director?
I used to sit down at the foot of my grandmother’s replica of the Venus de Milo. Keep in mind that I had bars on my legs, orthopedic shoes, surgery when I was four and tacks in my legs the day after I was born due to terrible clubfoot. I’d watch people looking at that statue as if it were beautiful, even though it was broken. It gave me this weird, obsessive hope that even though I was completely ruined, someday somebody might love me. The older I got, and the more involved I became in dysfunctional, obsessive relationships, the more that statue became a metaphor for how we rob people of things that might cause us to lose them. With Boxing Helena, it was as if Prince Charming whittled Snow White down to something that could no longer hurt him. It was a fairytale to me. Today, being my daughter’s mother, I realize the importance of staying young and vulnerable. I’d rather be hurt more often, stay vulnerable and see clearly, than be bulletproof and not understand the quality of life. Surveillance, then, is in direct contrast to Boxing Helena.

Given the attacks of nepotism that have been thrown your way, I was surprised to see that your father was the Executive Producer on this film. Was there a moment of humility associated with adding his name to the credits?
Humility is so close to humiliation. I loved this script and nobody would even read it, but once I added his name to the project, I was suddenly getting offers. When I showed it to him, part of me hoped he’d say, “I don’t fucking like it, and I’m taking my name off!”

You wanted him to hate it?
I thought, at least that way, if it’s my success or my failure, it’ll be strictly my success or my failure. Instead, he said, “I want my name bigger.” It was a great affirmation from a father to a daughter, but it was also like, Oh boy—now I’m fucked.

You would think that the stigma of nepotism, as it relates to you, would be wiped clean by now.
I don’t know what it is that I represent that makes people so angry, but they’re angry. I’m so grateful to the people who see the movie and don’t care who fucking made it. It’s a great feeling to be able to bring it home and say proudly, “Here’s what you lent your name to, Dad.” I never want to be ashamed that I’m his kid. He’s my father, regardless of his job, but I know what people think when they see his name up there as Executive Producer. But he wasn’t on set, he wasn’t there when I wrote it and he wasn’t there for any of the post-production.

It’s interesting that you chose to pursue the same profession as your father. There are also very tangible parallels to be made between your films and your mother’s visual art, her explorations of dreams and reality.
They were so young when I was born and they were both artists, and so we all kind of grew up together. But, trust me; it was a scary fucking day when I realized I wanted to paint and make films. My favorite painter is my mother and my favorite filmmaker is my father. And I so desperately wanted them to look at their kid and say, “Right on, Jen,” instead of, “Oh, Jesus Christ. Can you believe we had sex one day and now look what the kid’s doing?”

With hindsight, looking back on the young woman who was torn apart after the release of Boxing Helena, do you have any advice for her?
Wear earplugs.

Ignore the whole thing?
I can’t say that the audience means nothing to the artist, obviously, but the audience shouldn’t mean more than the artist means to the artist. If nobody ever fucking sees what you do, still do it for yourself. I had no idea that the movie was going to include Madonna and Ed Harris, then Kim Basinger and Ed Harris, and then Julian Sands and Sherilyn Fenn. I couldn’t have predicted the trial and the fact that it snowballed into something so much more intense than it should have been. But I don’t regret it.

Have you since spoken to Kim Basinger?
I wish I had, but no. I have so much respect for her as a human being. I feel the same way about Madonna. She wanted to be there, but Andrew Lloyd Webber told her, “You cannot do Evita if you do this movie.” Both Madonna and Kim Basinger grew up being valued only for their physical beauty, for the most part, and that’s what Boxing Helena was about: someone who was loved because of what she could do sexually and visually for a man, and how she could intimidate other women. There was something beautiful about what Kim was going to give to the role, and I feel very badly that it turned out the way it did. I have zero hard feelings against her. Everything escalated so quickly, testosterone levels were raised and then lawyers told me that I could no longer contact her.

A restraining order?
Basically. We weren’t allowed to contact each other. I wouldn’t have cared if she’d just told me she didn’t want to do it. But nobody told me. We had a wardrobe, a set, scheduled rehearsals and her trailer was all set up. It wasn’t like she wasn’t planning to do it—she changed her mind. That was when the lawyers came in and said, “We’ve got a case.” So there I was, at 23 years old, the main witness in a huge fucking trial with these big-time lawyers, and I just kept thinking to myself every morning, This is what happened—just tell the truth. I’m sorry it turned out that she hid all of her money with Alec Baldwin and that her relationship with Alec didn’t work out. It was all so gossipy. But, again, I love the human condition and I wish that we could all just tell each other the truth, because there’s nothing sexier or more potent or more inspiring than people who fall down and get back up again.

Your next film, Hisss, seems to be much more about mythology and monsters than human evil, a much lighter project than Surveillance.
I think there’s as much of the human condition in mythology as there is in day-to-day life. And to be given the opportunity to retell, as an objective foreigner, India’s oldest legend was really a kick in the pants. In its simplest terms, this is a movie that warns against wronging the cobra under the foot of man, because she can become vengeful and transform into a human, and then transform into a gigantic cobra. Never before in the legend has she become a gigantic cobra, but it was very important to me that she be able to swallow men whole, and maintain this fear-based sexuality, engaging in both an eroticism and terror that we hadn’t see in a while. So, I created this story based on a legend—but set in modern times—about what it is to believe, or not believe, in something that has been in your country for so long. Like, what if someone in the United States didn’t believe in vampires and then, through a series of events, was forced to believe? Hopefully, with the emergence of Twilight and True Blood, there’s a craving for mysticism, and a belief in immortality and sensuality. It’s fun to think, “I could be dying or I could be having an orgasm”—loss of control is a good thing.

I’m glad to hear you’re taking a less controversial route.
God help me! Can I not just write a cookbook?