Almost every weekend during my middle and high school years, a friend and I would hike to the local video store to rent horror films. As we slowly made our way through the selection of low-budget cheesy thrills, our eyes would always pause at the box cover for Eraserhead, then keep going. Gore and monsters didn’t shake us, but we sensed something otherworldly about that weirdo with the cylindrical hair and glassy stare, something we knew we weren’t quite ready for. It wasn’t until college that I was finally brave enough to delve into David Lynch’s abstract nightmare world. It became one of my favorite films, and Jack Nance one of my favorite indie actors.

I continued to see Nance pop up in odd background roles over the years, mostly as a Lynch regular. Nothing seemed to live up to the wide-eyed perplexity of his cult classic Eraserhead performance, but his peculiar screen presence always filled me with a deep curiosity about the man. I Don’t Know Jack features numerous friends and relatives recounting Nance’s strange life, habits, sour relationships and battles with addiction. Life seemed as odd and challenging to the man as it did to his famously coifed character. But at least Jack possessed a wry sense of humor and friends that supported him through his drinking, obsessive compulsiveness and sloooow conversation style. After enduring his wife’s suicide in 1991, Jack died five years later from the apparent after-effects of an altercation at his favorite bar. What’s known about the case seems pretty straightforward, but to his associates and fans it remains the subject of speculation. Nothing is ever cut-and-dried in Nanceland.

The documentary’s presentation is mostly talking heads intercut with clips and photos of Nance, organized as a linear timeline of his life and career. The subject will likely only be interesting to existing fans of Nance and David Lynch. As one of those fans I found it enlightening, and I’m ready for another viewing of Eraserhead.

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