Mulholland Drive, what many would consider to be David Lynch's pièce de résistance, is Lynch at absolutely peak Lynch; caked in the nightmarish intrigue in which he specialises, it is a truly bizarre exploration of the dark labyrinthine world, hidden beneath the glamour of Hollywood. As we are plunged deep into this surreal dreamscape version of LA, he twists us this way and that, ultimately leaving us with an undeniably potent enigma of a film, as compelling as it is disorienting.
Perhaps the most brazenly unconventional choice of all the brazenly unconventional choices in Mulholland Drive is the way Lynch plays with narrative. The film's plot does not make sense in any traditional sense of a plot making sense. As the film progresses, there are a number of scenes that are left to drift without the resolution one would expect and if they didn't have you confused, the later sections are packed with obvious contradictions that are sure to complete the job. However, the plot is not just one big mess. In fact, Lynch toys very deliberately with the expectations of the audience - using Heat-esque cityscapes to establish a somewhat noirish setting, he hints at a resolution that never materialises - leaving various strands of the story lingering enigmatically, ready to be untangled, before tangling them further. By deftly alluding to unforeseen connections in the later portion of the film - a blue key, a name tag, a man looking scared - we are made to feel lost, grasping at some answer that lies just beyond our reach.
Beyond the obviously eye-catching plot, there is much more to be enjoyed (not that the plot is terribly enjoyable to be involved with), namely, Lynch's impressive aptitude for the creation of unease and tension. Throughout the film, he blurs the line between reality and dreams; by playing with the fears that lie at the deepest corners of our thoughts, he is able to lace unexpected moments with an atmosphere of unquantifiable disquiet. This is perhaps exemplified best by one of my favourite scenes where we are introduced to two men in a diner. When their conversation turns from the mundane to the more macabre, the monotonous rumbling of Angelo Badalamenti's score and a quietly wandering camera are coupled to chilling effect, warning us of some peripheral threat. It's moments such as this that Mulholland Drive is at its disconcerting best.
Also notable are the two leads who both give performances more nuanced than the surface may suggest. Laura Harring is the amnesiac Rita/Camilla Rhodes and Naomi Watts is the small town Hollywood hopeful cliché Betty/Diane Selwyn (the plot is such that it's hard to give any definitive names), who descend into an increasingly odd Persona style relationship when they stumble across each other. Harring is Liv Ullmann in the analogy, full of a similar languidly beguiling charm, her initial facade of innocence is replaced by a pleasingly sinister confidence as the film progresses. The Persona comparison also works pretty well with Watts and Bibi Andersson whose warm-hearted perkiness is once again turned on its head in the final scenes, when her aspirations of stardom seem to crumble.
Above all though, Mulholland Drive works as an evocation of the shadowy underside of Hollywood, all faded glory, forgotten dreams, and lurking menace, Lynch provides a commentary on the perhaps corrosive influence of Hollywood with the uniquely unsettling style that only he could. This tone is epitomised by the strangely captivating "Club Silencio" scene; as the presenter flourishes his hand and we get a close up of his intense features, he cries "It is... an illusion!", words that in the moment are deeply impactful but whose meaning on further reflection, is a mystery to me. This is what is exciting about Mulholland Drive, it is a film that sweeps you up, appealing directly to your emotions not logic, every inexplicably heady moment feels viscerally involving.
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