Noir desires collide with a sleepwalking detective-story while this mind-bending narrative unfolds with archly trickster mendacity. David Lynch’s MULHOLLAND DRIVE (2001) seems to be classic movie-making by happy accident. Much like Richard Kelly’s cult-worthy Donnie Darko (also 2001), this deals out its death cheating hands of marked cards, open to interpretations of romanticised fate that perhaps tolerates no rational explanation.
Watching it is to just wonder why this puzzler exists at all. Elements from the auteur’s previous work drift into view, every now and then, so looking for visual expressionist references or thematic riffs on Twin Peaks (1990), and Lost Highway (1997), should be a sport you wish to play. Was Inland Empire (2006) supposed to be clarification?
Classification resistant and impossible to pigeon-hole, this mystery about murder and identity on the border of sanity abandons logic but not hope, in a convoluted fairytale that hinges upon Lynch’s apparent fascination with Jungian psychology.
Effortlessly blending dreams with harsh realities the artist’s ingenuity is utterly beguiling, as paired female characters switch from emotional transparency to morally opaque destiny in this dark realm charting the mechanics of creating films, and the overpowering quest for bright transcendental metaphors, whether its director thinks they are revelations or simple illusions. Who really cares what he thought, anyway?
The Dr is in...
