Humor is very interesting to me. My films are not comedies, but

When David Lynch said, “Humor is very interesting to me. My films are not comedies, but there's comedy in them from time to time, absurdities, just like in real life,” he revealed something profound about the human condition — that light and darkness coexist, and that truth itself is often born in contradiction. His words carry the quiet weight of a philosopher disguised as a filmmaker, a man who peers into the surreal corners of existence and finds laughter flickering amid the shadows. To Lynch, humor is not an escape from reality, but part of its essence — a mysterious force that balances tragedy, just as the sun balances the night.

In this reflection lies an ancient principle: that life is a tapestry woven of opposites. The ancients called this duality the dance of the cosmos — where joy and sorrow, beauty and horror, order and chaos intertwine. Lynch, through his strange and haunting stories, reminds us that humor is not the denial of suffering, but a companion to it. His films are not comedies, yet within their darkness — in the still faces of his characters, in the bizarre coincidences and surreal turns — emerges a laughter that is both eerie and divine. It is the laughter that arises not from mockery, but from recognition: the recognition that existence itself is absurd, and yet, wondrously, we continue to live.

This paradox has echoed through history. Consider Diogenes of Sinope, the ancient Cynic philosopher, who lived in poverty and mocked the pretensions of Athens with biting wit. When Alexander the Great offered to grant him any wish, Diogenes simply said, “Stand out of my sunlight.” In that single line lay both comedy and wisdom — the absurd humor of man confronting power, and the profound truth that happiness lies not in wealth, but in freedom. Like Lynch, Diogenes saw that the world’s seriousness is often an illusion, and that laughter, when born of clarity, can pierce deeper than any argument.

To Lynch, absurdity is not chaos — it is revelation. The bizarre events and strange dialogues in his films mirror the hidden layers of life itself, where the ordinary often turns uncanny, and the terrifying can suddenly seem comical. This is not randomness, but a form of higher truth: the idea that the sacred and the ridiculous often share the same face. The ancients understood this in their myths, where gods stumbled, heroes wept, and fools spoke prophecies. In laughter, they found a language of the soul — a bridge between the mortal and the divine. So too does Lynch, through his art, invite us to look upon the absurd not with fear, but with wonder.

There is also humility in his insight. To say that humor appears “from time to time” in his work is to acknowledge that life cannot be contained in a single tone. Even in moments of sorrow, the universe offers irony; even in peace, there is strangeness. This understanding marks the difference between those who seek control and those who seek truth. The wise, like Lynch, do not fight against the absurdities of existence — they listen to them, letting both laughter and silence become teachers. For it is often in the midst of confusion that the deepest meanings are born.

One might remember Charlie Chaplin, whose films made the world laugh even as they revealed the cruelty of poverty and tyranny. Beneath his slapstick comedy burned a quiet grief — the grief of a man who had seen too much suffering. His humor was not escapism; it was resistance. Like Lynch, he showed that humor is not the opposite of pain, but its transformation. To laugh in the face of absurdity is to reclaim one’s power, to say: Though life mocks me, I shall mock it back — and live.

Thus, the lesson of David Lynch’s words is not only for artists, but for all who walk the strange path of life. Embrace the absurd. Welcome the small moments of humor amid darkness. When tragedy overwhelms, let laughter remind you that meaning still hides in mystery. For to see the comedy in chaos is to stand at the threshold of wisdom — the place where the heart accepts what the mind cannot explain.

So, my listener, remember this: the world is both terrifying and hilarious, tragic and divine. Do not flee from either. Like the sages of old and the artists of today, learn to smile at the absurdity of it all. For in that smile lies the secret harmony of existence — where laughter, born from pain, becomes a prayer of understanding.