Written by Gabriel Serrano Denis
Two critical moments in Mulholland Drive, writer/director David Lynch’s 2001 surreal puzzle box, present characters with keys. Blue keys to be precise. One of the keys is ornate and seemingly conjured from another world, while the other is no more than a standard house key. What do they open? The only way to reach an answer depends on the esoteric clues left by the director and, most importantly, the feelings and emotions they conjure up. Because in a David Lynch film, even when something appears to be impenetrable, an overwhelming feeling that something has been resolved washes over the viewer by credits’ end. One may not immediately understand why this feeling manifests, but that’s when the real detective work starts.
Beginning with a horrible accident on the treacherous curves of Mulholland Drive in L.A., the movie wastes no time in establishing a dreadful mood. The lone survivor, Rita, played by Laura Harring, was clearly in some deep trouble, a fact corroborated by short scenes of shadowy figures searching for the woman. The mood shifts once nubile actress Betty (Naomi Watts) enters the film and with a sort of Nancy Drew-like enthusiasm begs the amnesiac Rita to solve the mystery of her identity. After all, Rita is in possession of one of the blue keys, as well as a dangerous amount of money.
What follows is a dreamlike journey with Robert Altman-esque vignettes that target the Hollywood machine and the corruption under its shiny veneer, while two women venture into an unknown world for answers that could destroy them both. At the same time, film director Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux), wrestles with executives who are demanding a specific actress be cast as the lead in his new film. Why? Like Betty and Rita, Adam is living in a puzzle box of his own. We encounter in this world, as in other Lynch films, eccentric characters, extreme violence, women in trouble, and hallucinatory visions blending with the “real” and mundane. What starts as a dream slowly veers into a nightmare.
Lynch’s first film Eraserhead (1977) and the 1997 neo-noir Lost Highway remain the filmmakers most challenging films. They possess a nightmarish logic that welcomes interpretation while also pistol-whipping the viewer with absurdist nihilism. Mulholland Drive however seems to be structured in a way that begs to be cracked and opened. It tricks you into believing it seeks natural, or even supernatural, explanations, only to show you that the true mystery lies within the unconscious.
The film offers its first clue in its tagline “a love story in the city of dreams”. Lynch has explored love in dark and hopeless places in Twin Peaks and Wild At Heart (both 1990), but here the filmmaker delves deeper into character and desire. Naomi Watts’ Betty is Lynch’s most tragic and haunting character, a woman whose dreams become the source of horror and violence. Akin to Twin Peaks’ Laura Palmer, Betty is a complex and layered character whose motivations and desires lead to a path of destruction. And yet, Lynch always offers an empathetic and loving view of her plight. Once we are aware that we are watching a love story, doors begin to unlock, but what key opens the next one?
When Betty is told that she’ll find a blue key after a “task” is completed, she asks “what’s it open?” The man sitting across from her simply laughs as she watches in silence. This exchange occurs in the same diner where a man (Patrick Fischler), having had recurring nightmares about a terrifying figure living in the back of the diner, confronts his fear only to find it waiting for him. These scenes and the monstrous “Bum” (Bonnie Aarons) by themselves don’t seem to connect logically or even chronologically. But in the dreamworld of Mulholland Drive, everything makes sense the deeper one burrows into Betty’s unconscious. We see the Bum appear in more scenes the deeper we go, and once we’re staring into the abyss, there is the Bum staring right back. Again, Lynch ties the surreal journey to his tragic heroine’s mindscape.
Mulholland Drive, thus, is both a surreal neo-noir and a profound character study of a lost soul destroyed by the dream factory. How one reaches this revelation lies in Lynch’s surreal and symbolic flourishes. One common misconception is that Lynch makes purposefully obtuse films that are not meant to be understood. However, one soon discovers that the absurdity and strangeness on display are not mere pretensions but a symbolic language that offers clues within the world we’re inhabiting. This does not mean there are literal interpretations to these symbols. What Lynch asks us is to trust what we feel his images mean.
In the 2002 DVD release of Mulholland Drive, Lynch, who disliked his films being broken into chapters for physical releases, included an insert which rather than listing chapters offered a list of clues to unlock the mysteries of the film. One of them says “who gives a key and why?”, while another asks “what is felt, realized and gathered at the club Silencio”. To a young film lover as myself, this insert was both beguiling and frustrating. What kind of clue asks what is “felt” in an important moment? And yet, it provided the most crucial lesson in enjoying Mulholland Drive and Lynch’s oeuvre: the key is that there is no key. There is only you and what the film makes you feel. “It is all an illusion”, a mysterious character bellows in the film. Yes, a beautiful and haunting one at that.
