Totally sexy and surreal, Lynch's take on american stardom willness is a poetic trip on dreamland. Catchy from scene one, it emulates Hollywood noir as storytelling. Building suspense as a film master, Lynch delivers cinema treasure chest in here.
No hooray for Hollywood here. An assured play on notions and symbols of vice versa: dreams/waking state, idealisation/reality, morality/machinations, etc. The fractured source (the retooling of an abandoned TV pilot) makes it even more remarkable how deftly Lynch has crafted this cunning onion-skinned puzzle. It's somewhat indulgent, but then what film isn't? At least this has an honesty in its lack of verisimilitude
I was one of many who thought, when it came out, that Mulholland Drive might be Lynch's most direct engagement w/ traditional surrealism because it appeared to be his most direct immersion in the world of dream. I see it very differently now. The movie strikes me now as being engaged w/ the insidious business of reality in all its elasticity and machinic complexity. Reality as conspiratorial domain. Transitional.
For a Hollywood's production this is a very audacious oeuvre! A fascinating work on perception, memory and film-making's struggle. But, the second time i saw it, i feel that the film is too flat and not so out of Hollywood criteria! Hipsters like weirdo stuffs; but weirdo doesnt mean groundbreaking. Sorry.