I Liked Mulholland Drive (I Think)
by Sean Nelson

Movie endings leave you feeling either satisfied or unsatisfied. David Lynch's endings, particularly the one for his new film, Mulholland Drive, have an altogether different power: They send the viewer hurtling into a tizzy of desperate calculus, trying to figure out who turned into whom and what the hell has been happening for the last two and a half hours.

Lynch films are largely resolution-free, and spill over with possible meanings, merging identities, and dream-reality crossovers so elaborate that it takes several viewings to decide whether the tricks add up. There's always a sense that the film could be a big practical joke on the cult of seriousness; Lynch, after all, is one funny bastard ("have you ever seen the duck walk?"). Not only is Mulholland Drive no exception to this principle, it's his freaky ne plus ultra.

Since the film originated as a TV pilot, it's safe to assume that Lynch intended to introduce a big, multi-character, intertwining narrative rather than tell an entire story. Even so, there are so many avenues that lead to cul de sacs here--cornpone aspiring actress with latent erotic explosiveness, glamorous amnesiac, hotheaded Hollywood producer, mysterious cowboy cipher, et al.--it's a challenge just keeping score. It's almost as though Lynch started out wanting to do a painting inspired by The Day of the Locust and wound up making a film because he couldn't find a large enough canvas. And again, I don't know if there's anything at the center of this great mess, but I do know that the film makes for a complicated entertainment, full of erotic dread and psychological sfumato. The best joke of all might be that ABC ever considered putting it on TV.

I Hated Mulholland Drive
by Bradley Steinbacher

David Lynch's best films take both his affinity for extreme normalcy and his (often incomprehensible) weirdness, and combine them into one pretty package. Think Blue Velvet and Wild at Heart, the first half of Lost Highway and the first season of Twin Peaks. His other work is either too tame (The Elephant Man, The Straight Story) or too pretentious/stupid/weird-for-weirdness' sake (Eraserhead, Fire Walk With Me, second half of Lost Highway) to fully capture his talent.

Then, of course, there is Dune, which is... well, Dune.

Mulholland Drive is bad Lynch. No, I take that back--it is terrible Lynch. A complete mess, no matter how his hard-core fans try and spin it. What starts out as film noir (much like Lost Highway) quickly deteriorates into pathetic masturbation (again, much like Lost Highway), only to such a degree that any interest in trying to decipher what Lynch is saying is lost. Sure, you could call it an "exercise in the surreal" or some bullshit, and that's fine and all, but before you sprint off to the theater, think back to the scene in Lost Highway when Balthazar Getty stumbles down a hallway twitching rapidly while looking for the bathroom. Then imagine that scene slapped around a couple of lesbian scenes and extended for 2.5 hours. Sound like fun? Oh, sure, when it's described here, maybe--but when you're in the theater, witnessing it onscreen, it ain't. Trust me.

Hopefully soon Lynch will regain his focus (and I'm sure making a film from scratch, instead of from an abandoned TV pilot, will help). Until then: Brad no longer needs the weirding module.

I Was in Mulholland Drive
by Naomi Watts (as interviewed by Sean Nelson)

David doesn't divulge anything he's thinking. I mean, he gives you direction, but scene-by-scene. But in terms of what it means and why and when and how and all that stuff: No, that's for your own interpretation. At first, I felt quite tortured by the whole experience, y'know, 'cause as actors, we're taught to create a little patchwork quilt and what patch goes where and which color looks good, y'know; it's this whole thing about designing your performance. And he basically makes you undo all that, and you just have to trust him. So my interpretation was completely what I fabricated myself, in order to make some sense of it. And I saw it as Diane's psychosis before the inevitable happens. Diane [Watts' character in the second half of the film] is someone who's been having a friendship with Camilla, played by Laura Harring. Camilla represents everything that Diane wants. She's a movie star, she's beautiful, femme fatale, everybody's in love with her, and Diane becomes completely in awe of everything she represents. It's just a lifestyle that she would love to have. So when Camilla gives her some of her attention and energy, it sort of brings Diane alive and she feels strong and hopeful. And then it all goes horribly wrong, so, in other words, it's sort of like an unrequited love story. But she falls harder because she's experienced a little bit of joy and then she goes deeper into this depraved, demented state. Anyway (without talking about the ending to destroy it for other people), that's generally the reality part of it. You start with Betty [Watts' character in the first half of the film], who I believe is the projection, the alternate ego, the fantasy, the dream. And Betty's in charge. Rita is Laura's other character. She's the one with amnesia. She has no identity, and Betty prides herself in controlling and dressing her up, almost like a little girl does with her little baby doll.... I know it's disjointed and non-linear and it still doesn't make perfect sense to everyone, but I find a lot of sense in it.