Conan the Destroyer and Dune were both being produced by Raffaella DeLaurentiis down in Mexico City at Estudios Churubusco. Dune was being directed by David Lynch. I was working on Conan the Destroyer (although I did a little bit of voice work on Dune).
I secretly drew caricatures of both Raffy and David on napkins during lunch. Then, I cleaned them up a bit and colored them:
David Lynch and I share a lot of the same friends. All of these same friends had been telling me over and over for years, “You gotta meet David; you’re like two peas in the same pod. You’ve got so much in common.”
Since we were working for the same production company, I typically saw David each day in the commissary at lunchtime.
I approached David one day, mentioning our friends in common and how they thought we should get together.
David lit up.
“Let’s have some lunches together!”
We had our first lunch together the following day. I tried to connect with mutual interests.
“Do you like horror movies, David?”
“NO! I hate being scared”
Wha––? The guy who created that terrifying Dennis Hopper character in Blue Velvet hates being scared?!!!
I tried relating to David with all kinds of stuff. None of it connected. I wanted to talk about horror and fantasy; he wanted to talk about the joys of watering his nice lawn. When David began to extol the virtues of his cup of coffee, it eventually clicked that in David’s TV show Twin Peaks, Kyle MacLachlan was playing a dead-on impression of David throughout the entire series. I used to see Kyle each day at lunch (he was one of the main stars of Dune); I couldn’t have asked him about that, though, because Dune happened years before Twin Peaks.
I continued my series of lunches with Dune director David Lynch. It felt like I just couldn’t connect with him. It wasn’t his personality; David’s a very nice guy. It just seemed like we shared almost nothing in common.
One day, as our lunch ended, David lit up.
“The Boys!“ he exclaimed. “Bill — you haven’t met The Boys!”
David stood up.
“Let’s go meet ‘em!”
I followed David across the lot to his office. He unlocked his door, and with a grand flourish, he swung the door open.
“Bill, meet — The Boys!”
On David’s sofa facing me and the door were six identical Woody Woodpecker dolls.
David introduced us.
“That’s Biff, Larry, Buddy, Hank, Bobo and Chewie (I don’t recall the actual names he had for each one; these six I made up are similar and will suffice). Boys, meet Bill!”
What in the hell does one say in that situation? I’m a T-shirt-and-jeans kinda guy, not used to such mental shenanigans.
“Er…hi, Boys!”
I’m still mystified by that encounter.
One day I was walking to the building where I worked. I happened to look up. There were The Boys peering down at us from David’s office window.
One thing I found out about David Lynch that I loved was his strong work ethic. Even though he was directing Dune, one of the biggest sci-fi films in history, he always found time to practice his Fine Art. He posted his latest creations on the walls of the studio’s hallways.
I found them hilarious. The first one I saw was titled “Fly Kit.” It was a xeroxed piece of art. David found a large dead horse fly and very carefully had taken it apart. Then, he laid out the parts on a page with handwritten instructions on how to assemble the fly.
The next one I saw was “Fish Kit.” Different creature, same idea.
While I was working on Conan the Destroyer, David finished his rough cut of Dune. I had been seeing phenomenal bits and pieces of Dune whenever I dropped by the room where Leslie Shatz was editing the sound for Dune. I saw loads of amazing scenes with Sting and Linda Hunt. I couldn’t wait to see the full, edited version. While I was there, David came up with a rough cut that was four-and-a-half hours long. The people who saw it (I, unfortunately, was not one of them) proclaimed it to be the greatest science fiction film in the history of cinema, the Gone With The Wind of sci-fi.
After the screening, Dino DeLaurentiis immediately demanded the film be cut down to two hours. I begged and argued with the DeLaurentiis family not to cut the film so severely.
“It’s an event movie,” I pleaded. “Have an intermission in the middle. The theaters will sell just as much popcorn. Or, release two different versions: a long one and a short one.”
Dino wouldn’t budge.
Sadly, once that final two-hour cut was achieved, the remaining footage was destroyed. Yes, destroyed. Forever. This was before DVDs and DVD extras. All of those great Linda Hunt and Sting scenes I saw didn’t make it to the final cut. The final cut’s opening? All of that text that flowed and flowed, explaining the story in words — all of that had been shot — but eventually cut, violating cinema’s “Show, Don’t Tell” rule. We will never see the masterpiece David Lynch worked so hard to produce. It’s lost forever. Those so-called “Director’s Cut” and “Extended version” copies of Dune available on video only add about ten minutes to the two-hour version. David disowned the final film.
I also unsuccessfully argued that the film should have a huge, important symphonic score — not a rock score by the band Toto. Unfortunately, the DeLaurentiis were in a Flash Gordon state of mind (Dino produced a sort of goofy Flash Gordon movie and used the band Queen for the film’s score).
These are both battles I wish I could have won.
But at least I got to meet and hang out with David for a while.