#7: MULHOLLAND DRIVE

 

STARRING: Naomi Watts, Laura Harring, Justin Theroux, Ann Miller and Robert Forster. Written and directed by David Lynch. Cinematography Peter Deming. Budget $15 million. Running time 147 minutes. Originally released in 2001.

This is only one of two David Lynch films I've never seen before, this and Inland Empire. And I am so glad I got to see this again on the big screen, a true cinematic delight.  

The film seems to follow the life of actress called Rita played by Laura Harring, who following a car crash, awakens suffering amnesia, and stumbles into an empty house and into the life of a wannabe actress, Betty (Naomi Watts) just arrived in Hollywood, who having won a jitterbug competition, dreams of making it big. Together the two women try to uncover who Rita really is, the mystery of a blue key, a bag full of money she carries and who the mysterious Diane Selwyn is. At the same time multiple other characters carry on their extraordinary lives revealing a twilight world of corruption, murder, movie making and several other unexplained mysteries. And as the film and its octopus-like threads seemingly coagulate, a blue box matching the colour of the key is found and opened and everything changes. And you realise that the whole film has been the fever-dream of a woman who's just committed suicide. But which woman and why?

Ultimately, like all of Lynch's films it's not the plot that's important, or the journey, it's the feelings it invokes, it's the emotions it stirs and it's the sense of impending dread and despair it pours into your soul. 

Lynch surely ranks up there with the likes of Kubrick as one of cinema's most unique creative talents. His films have a feel and quality which is instantly recognisable, from the sound design, to the visual look of it, the stilted almost amateurish acting style of his characters. The weird dream-lite quality of the dialogue and black as ink humour. No scene is safe from the deeply unsettling machine sounds that gnaw away at your psyche enhancing the sense of paranoia. And there's a grubbiness and an almost tactile feel to his films, that scratch away at you like a itch you can't scratch. Beyond the label of Neo-noir, his films simply defy classification, it simply is what it is, a dream that refuses to provide answers to any of the questions it throws at you, that's not it's role, it seems to be saying, that's up to you. Make of it what you will.

It's strange, deeply unsettling, engrossing, infuriating and profound and you'll either loathe it with a passion or love it to your core. There's a story there if you're looking but you'll need to work damn hard to fathom it out, and yet it all seems to come together at the end. Or does it?

And that's what sets this aside from any other film or film maker. Lynch doesn't seem to care what you make of his films. This, like Blue Velvet before it confounds your expectations and laughs in the face of simple logic, it just is what it is. 

And what that is, is a solid 10/10.