Watching Mulholland Drive a second time was such a completely different experience. The first time I was left utterly confused, with only a vague sense of what had happened. The second time it made such perfect sense it didn’t feel complex at all. It really is just a simple story told in a complex way.
For those who have yet seen this movie: If you are disturbed by the "poor acting" during the first half, there's a reason for it. In what state of existence is everything perfect and phony?
The premise of Mulholland Drive is perhaps centered on Diane’s obsessions and ruined dreams that are delivered in the frame of Hollywood satire, but of course it’s just my vulnerable comprehension since this movie is possible for multi-interpretation. I like the idea and quite enjoy the execution, but honestly, when I watched it I kept thinking about Synecdoche, New York and how I like Synecdoche better >:).
Its seductive flow disguises Hollywood's foundation of illusions, mortared with broken dreams and failed lives. Yet the underlying attitude is ambivalent, one of admiration and condemnation in equal measure.
A thought-provoking genius of a film, something that Lynch loves to do with his audience. I put him up there as a master of the 'mindfuck', always leaving me fascinated with what I have just watched. This film can certainly not be watched passively, it needs to be taken in for every second you see, otherwise you will never be able to create your own decipherment.
Fans of this need to check out 3 Women, hauntingly similar film that came out almost 25 years before this.
Watch as the 20th century foxes personal identity into a box -- the "dark room" of the camera, into which we fall and from which we emerge as projections that flare, flicker, and fade. However irreducible to a single reading, MD's most enduring appeal lies in its uncanny evocation of the instability of selves and the primacy of roles -- in the realization that our voice is not our own and the show goes on without us.
At first I wanted to look up some essays and criticism about this movie to see if I could make sense of it, but then I realized that any opinion of this movie that is not my own is 100% irrelevant. I'm going to be thinking about it for the rest of my life.
An argument can certainly be made for this being Lynch's finest film. A surrealist masterpiece about the fantasies we form when confronted by feelings of inferiority and weakness in a relationship. Whereas "Blue Velvet" had a very progressive, slow transition from stagey idealism (in terms of acting, tone and mise-en-scène) and to dark reality, here the crossover is sudden, sharp and devestating; just like that moment your heart stops when you see her kissing another man.
So terrible at times I felt like I was watching some dark spin-off of "The Room".
A movie so terrible that Gene Siskell’s rotting decomposed hand emerged from the grave in the thumbs down position.