Lost in the Movies: mulholland drive
Showing posts with label mulholland drive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mulholland drive. Show all posts

TWIN PEAKS CONVERSATIONS bonus podcast on Mulholland Drive premieres tonight w/ Devious Dreams author John Thorne (YouTube & extended PATREON)


For John Thorne, Mulholland Drive has not only been a vital experience in its own right but also -forgive the expression - a key to David Lynch's other work, particularly Twin Peaks. Many of John's theories and interpretations of Peaks borrow from a structure Lynch most notably deployed to tie two worlds together: the characters and stories conceived for an ABC TV pilot (the first two-thirds of Mulholland Drive, with some subtle but significant changes) and the more time-constrained but also thematically and stylistically grander possibilities of a theatrically-released feature film (sealed by the final third of Mulholland Drive, shot a year and a half after the other material). Not only does Mulholland inform John's notions of dreaming and identity shifts in Peaks, it also feeds his fascination with process - the outside conditions that, well, condition Lynch's creative responses. We began to dwell on this subject in our previous discussion (itself following Twin Peaks Conversations episodes in 2021 and 2022). Since then, John wrote and published the absorbing and deeply compelling Devious Dreams: Reimagining David Lynch's Twin Peaks (which includes history of the production, analysis of the pilot and film, and original interviews with the central cast). Naturally, we had to schedule a reunion to focus on this new book.

The resulting episode premieres exactly twelve hours from this announcement and runs nearly four hours in total, with about an hour and a half public on YouTube and the remaining two and half hours for the $5/month tier on Patreon. We explore many rabbit holes, including what a Mulholland Drive series might have looked like (and how that phenomenon would compare to Twin Peaks), what was in the closed ending Lynch shot for the pilot even before expanding it into a film, the significance of the man behind Winkie's Diner, how John's exposure to a version of the pilot before the 2001 Mulholland Drive premiere shaped his perspective, and the way that the film's release (nearly a decade into Wrapped in Plastic's run) changed John's work on the magazine. And that's just in the first part of the conversation!

PART 1 on YouTube premieres at 8pm EST


Listen to...
(also premieres at 8pm EST)

TWIN PEAKS CONVERSATIONS bonus podcast w/ John Thorne: the "lost episode" (YouTube & extended PATREON)


In the spring of 2023, as I was wrapping up my regular monthly Twin Peaks Conversations schedule, I recorded a "bonus" that I planned to use later, maybe as the last episode in this podcast, with my most recurring guest: John Thorne, publisher of Wrapped in Plastic in the nineties and zeroes and later a blogger, podcaster, editor of a new Twin Peaks magazine, and eventually author of several books. In our previous Twin Peaks Conversations we first touched base on Halloween 2021 (coincidentally, three years to the day before this latest episode) as he was writing a new book about Twin Peaks' third season and then we spoke again after he published that book as Ominous Whoosh in 2022. This discussion was supposed to be something of an epilogue in that trilogy, reflecting on the passage of years since Twin Peaks: The Return in light of a David Lynch retrospective John attended in Dallas. And while the two-part episode (a half hour on YouTube, another hour-plus for the $5/month tier on Patreon) does serve that purpose, it was also unknowingly a gateway into a whole new project for John. In the year and a half since we recorded this chat, he's written and published a book on Mulholland Drive called Devious Dreams, and Lynch's 2001 film is already a focus in the Patreon part of this episode, hinting at the book to come. This past winter, I thought I'd lost this whole recording but fortunately I was able to restore it months ago and now I can present this "lost episode" not just as a worthwhile piece in its own right but also a teaser for the next Twin Peaks Conversations episode, scheduled for December, in which John and I will discuss the book Devious Dreams in great detail.

PART 1 on YouTube


Listen to...


Like my December conversation with Rob King and my April/May conversation with Cameron Cloutier and Josh Eisenstadt, this is a bonus episode of the Twin Peaks Conversations podcast, which ended its monthly run halfway through 2023. Bonuses will continue at least as long as I'm working on the three big Twin Peaks projects (Journey Through Twin Peaks videos, the written character series, and the second season of the Lost in Twin Peaks podcast) over the next few years.



Prior to our Twin Peaks Conversations episodes, I spoke to John over three print interviews in 2014 (about Wrapped in Plastic, The Missing Pieces, and the announcement of The Return), again when he published his 2016 book, and then over four Patreon podcasts in 2019 (first, second, third, and fourth).

Listen to his podcast In Our House Now

Check out back issues of his more recent magazine The Blue Rose




Four Great Scenes to Enjoy • group discussion w/ the "Twin Peaks Grammar" Artists Love Twin Peaks podcast (w/ guests Colin, Andrew Cook & John Thorne)


A couple weeks ago, Anthony - the host of the "Twin Peaks Grammar" YouTube channel - suggested a "scene analysis idea". What if a group of commentators got together, each picking a different scene, and each focusing on a particular formal element (editing, cinematography, performance, and so on). The idea stuck with me after I listened and I encouraged Anthony to pursue the concept. And so he did, as a birthday present to himself, featuring not just both of us - for the fourth time after his guest appearance, mine, and another group discussion - but also Wrapped in Plastic publisher (and my own frequent guest) John Thorne, Creamed Corn and the Universe podcast host Colin (with whom I've previously discussed Sarah Palmer and Ronette's angel, in addition to his project more broadly), and film/TV commentator Andrew Cook (with whom I've previously discussed Eyes Wide Shut and Southland Tales).


With links to the discussion timecodes (the clips themselves can be watched here and here), John selected the Winkie's diner exchange and trip out back from Mulholland Drive, Andrew the Tremond's Meals on Wheels scene from the original series of Twin Peaks, myself the Mike in traffic/Teresa flashback sequence from the prequel film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, and Anthony the nighttime Cooper/statue passage from Twin Peaks: The Return (Colin joined last-minute and took part in the commentary without picking a scene himself). Before each clip, we'd choose our focus and begin with observations on that before expanding to a broader back and forth. This was a great conversation, and hopefully a format that will be pursued in the future with other guests, scenes, and even concepts (I'd love to see this applied to non-Peaks work as well, even to scenes from films the guests aren't familiar with and are watching for the first time).

In addition to this YouTube video, Anthony has also posted this episode in audio form on the Artists Love Twin Peaks feed.

Update 2026: The audio-only version is not currently available on Apple Podcasts, though it may be on other platforms.


On a side note (mentioned at the end of the episode), this week I've been conducting a poll on Patreon for the $5/month tier to determine what film I'll cover for this month's reward. Based on suggestions from patrons, so far The Red Shoes is in the lead but others include Brick, City of Pirates, May December, Punch Drunk Love, Ruthless, and Trenque Lauquen. Make sure to jump in if you're interested, as the poll closes at noon on Friday.

Catching Big Fish in Twin Peaks • group discussion w/ the "Twin Peaks Grammar" Artists Love Twin Peaks podcast (w/ guests Colin, Alison Ivy, Josh Minton, John Thorne)


Four months after my last guest appearance on the YouTube channel "Twin Peaks Grammar", host Anthony invited me back - this time for a lively, three-hour group chat. Most of the participants I'd spoken with before (either on their shows or others) but never in this particular configuration, and the result was a wide-ranging consideration of topics including Cooper's experiences in the Red Room; the Fireman's role in this universe; the confused identities of Phillip Gerard, Mike, the Arm, and the Evolution of the Arm; and of course, that perpetual inquiry: "What year is it?" These questions are just a small sample (I'll list the full line-up below) but the answers, non-answers, and further questions were all fun to consider.


Mulholland Drive as Twin Peaks Cinema #21 - The Lynchverse (podcast)



A new year brings new seasons for two podcasts: Lost in the Movies (which groups monthly episodes into six-month periods) and Twin Peaks Cinema (which groups them by three-month-long themed miniseries). And the first episode of each links back to the last season: in Lost in the Movies' case, I published Sofia Coppola's 2006 Marie Antoinette a couple weeks ago, echoing the 1938 version of Marie Antoinette which ended my Classic Hollywood theme in December. In Twin Peaks Cinema's case, I'm launching "The Lynchverse" season with perhaps his most acclaimed film, Mulholland Drive - however, this clearly links back to my October-December season too with its theme of "Disordered Stories". Like Rashomon, The Vanishing, and Back to the Future Part II, Mulholland Drive infamously turns what could be a straightforward narrative - a woman survives a car accident with no memory of who she is, while another woman (arriving in Hollywood to become a star) endeavors to crack this mystery - and turns it inside out. Often cited as the greatest film of the twenty-first century, initially it earned a reputation as the crown jewel of the turn-of-the-millennium "puzzle films" although Lynch was going for something more ethereal than some of the other filmmakers grouped in that category. Mulholland's process also differed notably from movies conceived to lead to a certain point: this was supposed to be an open-ended pilot and only after being rejected by ABC and commissioned as a feature by a French production company did Lynch create the "key" to open this mystery box. Twin Peaks may have inspired much of Mulholland Drive (whose series conception was initially a direct spin-off); regardless of how conscious Lynch was of the many connections between the works, they create a resonant echo chamber. In this episode, I combine a longer-than-usual discussion of the Mulholland/Peaks crossover with several pieces of feedback (and my own responses to them), expanding this topic - including aspects like the troubled history of Rita Hayworth, who explicitly inspires the name of one of these characters.



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(and most places podcasts are found)


LINKS FOR EPISODE 21

January 2022 Patreon podcasts: LOST IN THE MOVIES #87 - Twin Peaks Cinema: On Dangerous Ground (+ Twin Peaks Reflections: Pete, Doc, Spirits, Glastonbury Grove, Bank, Mystery box/Mulholland Drive & more) plus TWIN PEAKS CONVERSATIONS


As I plan to focus on a handful of major projects in 2022, I will probably be scaling back my main Patreon podcast somewhat. February will be the last month (at least for a little while) for the "Twin Peaks Cinema" approach as well as the "Twin Peaks Reflections" on characters, locations, and storyline connections. However, January also represents something of a milestone for me. Since I actually pre-recorded the February film a long time ago, my choice for January - Nicholas Ray's fifties noir On Dangerous Ground - was the last new "Twin Peaks Cinema" I recorded, wrapping up a project begun in mid-2019. (The public Twin Peaks Cinema podcast will of course continue every month, pulling from the Patreon archive.) On Dangerous Ground completes a trilogy of Ray/Peaks connections and its city vs. country theme also reflects the book I discussed in this month's Twin Peaks Conversations podcast, about the murder of Hazel Drew who was caught between (and perhaps killed by) her own urban/rural divide. Meanwhile, my penultimate Reflections topics are inspired by the season two finale, which I just opened up to the $1/month tier - another benchmark has been reached for Lost in Twin Peaks with all of seasons two and three available to all patrons (and all of season one available to the public). February will be very Fire Walk With Me-themed all around.

Twin Peaks Unwrapped - The TV pilot version of Mulholland Drive (w/ Mya McBriar and John Thorne)


What if Mulholland Drive had been an ABC series competing for viewers in the fall of 1999, rather than an uber-cinematic art film quickly acclaimed as the best movie of the 21st century? This and other questions animate my discussion with Ben and Bryon, hosts of the most prolific Twin Peaks podcast, Mya McBriar of Twin Peaks Fanatic, and John Thorne of Wrapped in Plastic and The Blue Rose Magazines, who brought knowledge of several different cuts to the table. Four years ago, we spoke about the finished film when it was incorporated into the Criterion Collection and now we've reunited for a round-table about the TV pilot version of the movie. Though I've long been aware of what was and wasn't in the rejected version David Lynch presented to the network, it was startling to actually watch this familiar footage in fuzzy VHS quality and a boxy aspect ratio - not to mention the subtle additions and subtractions scattered throughout this version of Mulholland Drive. And it made for a great conversation.

This is the first of three appearances I'll be making on Twin Peaks Unwrapped this fall, so keep an eye out for my contribution to a Season 1 Finale rewatch and another "Madness" session, this time eliminating and elevating the various episodes of the truly mad Season 2.

Patreon update #2: Mulholland Drive & Twin Peaks (+ Reactionary Boomers, Stranger Things & more)


I recorded this week's podcast almost immediately after the other, hoping to get into a routine where I was always at least a week ahead of time. And it's a good thing I did, because it ended up being kind of a beast. The film in focus came courtesy of a new patron, with the request that I look at Mulholland Drive not just as a film in and of itself, but a Lynch work with strong links to Twin Peaks. The result was a half-hour segment (much longer than these will usually be) which I enjoyed preparing for. In the latter part of the episode, I touch on some series I've been watching, and ask why suddenly the cultural stereotype of baby boomers has been flipped on its head.

Intro
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WEEKLY UPDATE/works in progress: 5 Weeks of Fire Walk With Me (Fire Walk With Me & season 3)
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FILM IN FOCUS/TWIN PEAKS REFLECTIONS: connections between Mulholland Drive & Twin Peaks
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(pt. 1: Intro/History of Mulholland Drive)
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(pt. 2: Relationship to original Twin Peaks/Fire Walk With Me, Mulholland Drive's mythology if it continued as a show)
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pt. 3: Relationship to Twin Peaks season 3...iconography/actors, structural similarities - sprawling start, loose ends, tightening at the end, story grows colder/darker at end, identity shift in protagonist, Martha Nochimson's interpretation of Lynchian shifts to darkness, Audrey in s3, Carrie Page & Diane Selwyn, differences...female vs. male perspective, stylistic distinction from the Mary Sweeney era, exception of the Becky sequence)
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ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS: The Boomer-ang: has the characterization of boomers as uber-reactionaries gone too far? (plus Showtime's Guerrilla series, Stranger Things season 2 - the Duffers' nostalgia for an era they didn't experience, and Hill Street Blues on Bickering Peaks)
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OPENING THE ARCHIVE: "Building Commitments and Community" (August - November 2008), this week's highlight (Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me)

The Favorites - Mulholland Drive (#20)


The Favorites is a series briefly exploring films I love, to find out what makes them - and me - tick. Mulholland Drive (2001/USA/dir. David Lynch) appeared at #20 on my original list.

What it is • So many elements reel us into the first few minutes of Mulholland Drive. A strange, colorful jitterbug swims into view, pop Americana and surreal avant-garde colliding as figures cascade inside one another and repeat across the screen. Then a point of view shot, with heavy breathing on the soundtrack, descends onto a pillow and disappears into darkness. Angelo Badalamenti's instantly evocative score emerges, its synthesized majesty provoking mixed responses so suited to a film about the magic and deception of the film industry: glamor, tragedy, artificiality, deep emotion. The drama begins with a likely murder attempt thwarted by a violent car crash. We meet the potential victim (Laura Elena Harring) whose amnesiac confusion reflects our own: who is she, how did she get here, what does it all mean?? Mulholland Drive is a gripping, carefully-told narrative for all its experimentation. That's what frustrates so many viewers while engrossing others - we are primed to expect answers but we aren't ready for the way they are presented. This desire only escalates as the main plot begins: bright-eyed ingenue Betty (Naomi Watts), an aspiring actress newly arrived in Hollywood, discovers that "Rita" (as the amnesiac names herself) has wandered into her absent aunt's apartment. She vows to unravel the mystery of this beautiful stranger. As the film proceeds, it introduces a separate storyline that seems connected in some subterranean way: a shadowy cabal prevents a film director (Justin Theroux) from executing his desired creative decisions in increasingly baroque, ominous fashion. Meanwhile there are cutaways to other events. A hitman (Mark Pellegrino) goes on a darkly comic killing spree, quite likely stemming from that early aborted assassination. There's even a one-off scene with two men in a diner (Patrick Fischler and Michael Cooke), where one of them describes a terrifying nightmare about a "man behind this place...he's the one doing all these things." The scene ends in one of the most viscerally terrifying moments in cinema history. As we travel between characters and locations, we are given a grand, romantic tour of Los Angeles: the shiny airports, the rundown bungalows, the hidden nightclubs charged with occult energy, auditions in small corner offices and bustling soundstages alike, meetings in cold corporate office buildings and abandoned cowboy ranches with blinking overhead lamps. The spirit of this journey is summoned in a single montage as a series of sinister men, most of whose faces we can't see, call one another - a story of the city's highs and lows expressed in telephones, suggesting that all these levels of reality are interconnected. Where are all these threads taking us? Seemingly patterned along the lines of Grand Canyon or any given Robert Altman film (perhaps Short Cuts if we want to stick with the L.A. theme), Mulholland Drive owes its multiple strands to another source - it began life as a TV pilot for ABC. Like many viewers, I didn't know this when I watched, and the setup seemed perfectly natural. Then the blue box opens...and everything changes.

Why I like it •

Maya Deren & David Lynch: Spend a "lost afternoon" with my video essay MESHES OF LYNCH for Fandor Keyframe


Every month, I will be offering at least one post on Twin Peaks...up until Showtime re-airs the original series. Then I will post extensive coverage of each episode (mixing new reactions with my many older pieces) immediately after they air. Stay tuned.

If I had to pick a favorite among my recent outpouring of video essays, this would probably be it. Requiring a lot of organization, contemplation, and experimentation, my non-narrated split-screen comparison of Maya Deren and David Lynch finally emerged as a video that speaks immediately and directly to the viewer but also contains a lot to unpack if they want to go further with it (to dig into this common ground, I would recommend this collection of quotes I posted to accompany another Deren video essay last summer). I've created videos on both directors before so it was a joy to join them together in this approach.



advisory: I would very much suggest listening to the video with headphones or good speakers. I use Lynch's subtle soundscape in Inland Empire (including his song "The Ghost of Love") as the backdrop and there are connections there too, even though Deren's film is silent. While nothing is explicitly spoiler-y, some of the selected scenes are suggestive and/or surprising. If you want to fly completely blind with his work, including Twin Peaks, be warned. The montage also contains violence and frightening images.

Here is the description I wrote for Fandor Keyframe, followed by screencaps of sixty-one comparisons from the video, going film by film.

"As viewers of Maya Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon and David Lynch's Mulholland Drive have frequently recognized, there are many similarities between these two filmmakers (Meshes' innovative co-director Alexander Hammid carried on with a documentary career while Deren's later work continued with her themes and style in Meshes). An ordinary key charged with dangerous supernatural power; characters who multiply, bending space and time; an Angelino atmosphere in which daydream becomes nightmare...these are just a few of Meshes' and Mulholland's common touchstones. Others have compared Meshes to Lost Highway, with characters in high windows nearly or actually viewing themselves on the street below, or Inland Empire, which escalates Mulholland's fragmented identities in a suburban home that serves as a multidimensional portal. In fact these threads - or meshes, if you will - extend to almost all of Lynch's work in the second half of his career, from the moment Twin Peaks took a particularly dark turn in 1990 through Inland Empire's climax sixteen years later.

This video essay holds the two worlds side by side, allowing the correspondences (and there are dozens of them) to emerge without commentary so that you can draw your own conclusions. Mysterious figures recede into the distance. Ordinary living rooms are transformed into ominous, uncertain spaces. Monsters pop out in the middle of the bedroom, and, even worse, familiar faces take on a monstrous quality - suggesting that perhaps these visions of mind or magic have their roots in everyday reality. Some visual links are obviously designed and composed exactly the same but others are more poetic and suggestive, relating ideas as well as images. Are all these connections merely coincidental? Lynch was a student at the AFI in the early seventies, and even back then screenings of Deren's work were staples of such programs. However, when asked by biographer Greg Olson (Beautiful Dark, 2008) if he had seen or even knew of Maya Deren, the avowed non-cinephile Lynch said "No." (Lynch also professed ignorance when early works were compared to Luis Bunuel.)

It's entirely possible that Lynch and Deren (who passed away in 1961, when Lynch was still a teenager) are simply drawing from the same psychic well. It's also possible that Lynch was impacted by her work long ago and forgot the encounter. But does it matter? I think what's important is how the works themselves speak to one another across the decades. Watching them together, especially enveloped by the eerie soundscape of Lynch's Inland Empire, uncanny sensations and euphoric epiphanies course through my nerves and imagination. Maya Deren and David Lynch are brilliant directors not merely because of their vivid images or ability to tell a story without precisely telling a story. They are attuned to something that runs much deeper than pure cinema or pure art, something that strikes a chord deep within. They have the ability to manifest our dream lives onscreen. I hope spending this "lost afternoon" with the two masters inspires you to view these films with renewed attention and appreciation."
For the third and final time in a row, I will be posting every weekday this week.

Mulholland Drive & Celine and Julie Go Boating (Lynch/Rivette Retrospective #6)


This is the sixth entry in a series covering the Lynch/Rivette retrospective at Lincoln Center, running from December 10 - 22. I attended a double feature of Celine and Julie Go Boating (1974) and Mulholland Dr (2001) on the evening of Saturday, December 19.

These are the films. If you're asking me for my personal favorites I would probably go with the wilder and woollier Fire Walk With Me and Out 1. But it's incredibly easy to see why Mulholland Drive and Celine and Julie Go Boating are considered their directors' masterpieces, and why they have become the go-to initiation rites for anyone hoping to fall under David Lynch's or Jacques Rivette's spells. J. Hoberman called last night's double feature, with some trepidation, a "surfeit of cinema." He's right. It isn't that films like Lost Highway or L'Amour Fou aren't intensely cinematic in their own right, it's just that these two titles are movie-movie-movies in the same sense as Citizen Kane, 2001: A Space Odyssey, or 8 1/2. Collecting together all of the elements present in other Lynch or Rivette films, they are rich with a sense of magic - some combination of charm, imagination, reflexivity, excitement, and depth - transforming already great films into something even more iconic.

These films also form the most logical pairing of the entire retrospective, kicking off the entire concept according to programmer Dennis Lim. Mulholland Drive and Celine and Julie Go Boating join classics like Robert Altman's 3 Women, Vera Chytilova's Daisies, and Ingmar Bergman's Persona by placing young women at the center of an alluringly fantastical world. Betty (Naomi Watts) and Rita (Laura Elena Harring), like Celine (Juliet Berto) and Julie (Dominique Labourier), chase their own elusive memories, mix amateur sleuthing skills with a penchant for performance, rely upon talismans to guide them through a web of intrigue, and cross interdimensional boundaries between reality and dream in order to solve a murder and satisfy their dangerous desire to penetrate an aura of mystery.

Talking Mulholland Drive with Twin Peaks Unwrapped


Every month, I will be offering at least one post on Twin Peaks...up until Showtime re-airs the original series. Then I will post extensive coverage of each episode (mixing new reactions with my many older pieces) immediately after they air. Stay tuned.

This month's Twin Peaks post is actually more about another David Lynch work, although it touches on Peaks as well. The folks at the Twin Peaks Unwrapped podcast recently invited me back for a second appearance (well, third technically - but the "killer's reveal" discussion is still a few weeks away, and this discussion was bumped up on the schedule in honor of the Criterion relase). The conversation lasts about 10-15 minutes and accompanies conversations amongst the hosts and with fellow guests Mya McBriar of Twin Peaks Fanatic and John Thorne, editor of Wrapped in Plastic (and of an upcoming compilation book). We discuss the genesis of the film, different interpretations, and also its links to Twin Peaks and Fire Walk With Me. Enjoy!


(Check out my earlier appearance on the podcast, discussing the first season)

Opening the Door: a conversation with Martha Nochimson, author of The Passion of David Lynch and David Lynch Swerves


Martha Nochimson, author of the critical analyses The Passion of David Lynch: Wild at Heart in Hollywood (1997) and David Lynch Swerves (2013), has recently written two notable essays: "Don't call 'Twin Peaks' a 'cult classic'" and "David Chase finally reveals Tony's fate on 'The Sopranos.'"

When I returned to Twin Peaks earlier this year, it was through a book, Full of Secrets: Critical Approaches to Twin Peaks. Some essays were more compelling than others, but two immediately caught my interest. Both addressed what remained "unsettled" (unsettling?) about Twin Peaks for me - and thus what drew me back into that world after a five-year break. Diane Stevenson's essay "Family Romance, Family Violence, and the Fantastic in Twin Peaks" tackled one of the show's most troubled and tangled points, the intersection of real-world trauma with depictions of an otherworldly mythology. And Martha Nochimson's "Desire Under the Douglas Firs: Entering the Body of Reality in Twin Peaks," in contrast to some of the other essays in the book, explicitly analyzed the troubled making of the show. She rooted her analysis of the series finale - particularly Cooper's "defeat" in the Red Room - in careful research, observing not only what David Lynch and Mark Frost had done, but what they believed. The result perceptively located the psychological and spiritual resonance of Cooper's experiences rather than relegating them to narrative exigencies or over-theoretical impositions.

I soon learned that this essay had been followed by one of the most acclaimed books on Lynch. The Passion of David Lynch: Wild at Heart in Hollywood extends the author's analysis of Lynch's (and, briefly, Frost's) visions, bringing a Jungian and feminist perspective to bear on the director's work. Her primary guide, however, is the work itself - and Lynch himself (she spoke with him several times before writing the book). She expected, according to the introduction to Passion, to "get an enormously precious something, which I would transmit in my book. As it turned out, much of the value of my time with David Lynch came as a result of letting go." Later, in one of the most important passages, she describes viewing a Jackson Pollack painting alongside Lynch. When she said she didn't understand it, he told her she did because her eyes were moving. "I saw that I could not contain the painting in some theoretical framework; he saw me performing with the painting." Throughout this book, Martha Nochimson performs with David Lynch's work in similar fashion. For me, reading the book was a series of epiphanies. Did I agree with everything she wrote about the work? No (and below we will discuss some of the interpretations I found more challenging). But there was a consistent sense of revelation I hadn't felt with other analyses of this work - a sense that the central phenomenon was always the emotional experience of what Lynch was presenting rather than a cerebral rationalization.

The follow-up book, David Lynch Swerves, brings a more pronounced framework to the table: using the Vedic scriptures and (especially) quantum mechanics to interpret Lynch's "second-stage" films, from Lost Highway to Inland Empire, in which a purely psychological reading limits what he is doing (the book very firmly rebuts the "it's all a dream" interpretation of the first two-thirds of Mulholland Drive). This, of course, runs the risk of applying a rigid grid to Lynch's films but instead the book is as revelatory as its predecessor: the focus on the Vedas and physics are based on Lynch's own curiosity about these subjects and, again, the interpretation is determined by the experience of the work itself. Besides, these unconventional tools remain shockingly apt. Lynch bends reality yet maintains (indeed deepens) emotional resonance in his later work, a process I see beginning even earlier than the "second stage," in Fire Walk With Me and, to a lesser extent, Twin Peaks. As with Diane Stevenson's earlier essay on "the fantastic," David Lynch Swerves distinguishes the director's visions from Hollywood's traditional genre approaches: "In the Lynchverse, the marketplace blocks experience of the larger energies of the real in the name of a fictitious normality. In horror, science fiction, and fantasy, the larger energies are violations of a highly valued normality conceived of as the real. In the Lynchverse, normality is questioned; in horror, science fiction, and dream/fantasy, it has traditionally been defended."

The most useful quantum concepts in the Lynch experience may be "entanglement" - in which multiple particles react as if they are one (much like the shifting and overlapping identities in Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire) and "superposition" - in which a particle can be two places at the same time (recall the Mystery Man's phone conversation in Lost Highway, among other relevant phenomena in that film). The analysis even finds a way to incorporate The Straight Story, through the concept of "decoherence," which explains how traditional Newtonian physics appears to operate under certain conditions (indeed, this is how we perceive day-to-day life) even as experimentation proves that the larger physical reality is far more complex. Reading The Straight Story this way - as a narrative that takes place within what Swerves refers to as the "Lynchverse" but miraculously avoids the physical and psychological reality-bending of his other works - can seem like a stretch. However, the film is certainly a part of Lynch's oeuvre (and it is clearly a film he was passionate about, even calling it his most "experimental" work), consistent with his vision despite being exceptional in many ways. Recall, too, that Alvin's journey is all about self-imposed limits and sticking to a particular path, and "decoherence" becomes perhaps the most perceptive reading of a film near and dear to Lynch's heart, even as that heart was devoted to a very different perception of reality than Alvin Straight's.

Finally, David Lynch Swerves provides the most penetrating and clear-headed reading of Inland Empire that I've yet encountered. Early in the film, the strange woman who enters Nikki Grace's home borrows language from the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, founder of Transcendental Meditation and David Lynch's own spiritual teacher. She speaks of "the Marketplace" (the confusion of day-to-day reality, also akin to the limited vision of classical physics) and "the Palace" (cosmic wisdom, to put it perhaps too simply). With these evocative words as guiding concepts, the book gently roots the swirling realities of the film's prologue in three distinct locales. There is the Rabbit Room, a "vision of faith" in which "three actors wearing rabbit suits wait for understanding in a state of Pinteresque/Beckettian confusion." "The world of human need," as represented by the Lost Girl's Room, "combines an elaborately appointed but realistic looking hotel room with a magic mirror shaped like an ordinary television." The self-descriptive Rage Room is inhabited by "two men, one of whom is filled with violent, negative energy in a beautiful, traditional, gilt-covered European salon." These physical places are visualized psychological concepts: "It is unorthodox to think of emotional states of being as places we can enter, which Lynch does here. Lynch also challenges the way we usually think about time by locating these 'feeling places' - bubble worlds - in a future that is already present when the film begins, way before Nikki finds these worlds." Nikki's visitor in the film also speaks of an "alleyway" through which one can avoid the Marketplace and reach the Palace. My own feeling is that David Lynch's films provide such an alleyway. Despite its elusive, "challenging" air, his work may in fact create a path to better understanding of art, the world, and our place within it.

After reading The Passion of David Lynch and David Lynch Swerves, I knew I wanted to speak to Martha about her work and David Lynch's films. The following conversation was conducted primarily through a single phone call, although preliminary questions and minor revisions were made via email as well.

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It's a Strange World: A David Lynch retrospective, 1967 - 2013 (part two: the forest)


This is my fifth and final entry in David Lynch Month, an essay examining long-term changes in Lynch's work. You don't necessarily need to read "part one" first, particularly if you're already familiar with Lynch. There are spoilers for all of his films.

This week's "Question in a World of Blue" is: What does the term "Lynchian" mean to you? You can respond in the comments below or on your own blog (please tag this entry in your response).

David Lynch has been making films for almost half a century. Because it took him another ten years to release his first feature, and nearly another decade to achieve his full-on "Lynchian" breakthrough into the mainstream, we tend to forget he's been around for so long. But Lynch's work stretches from the avant-garde cinematic renaissance of the late sixties (with its reliance on celluloid and aesthetic discipline) to the digital free-for-all of the twenty-first century teens (unmoored and immersed in its own video hyperactivity). He has both shaped his times and been shaped by them, but he's also stood apart - a one-man band beating his own crazy clown drum, sometimes celebrated as a true and timeless American original, sometimes scorned as a self-indulgent sideshow to the larger world, societal and cinematic.

From my recent Lynch marathon, two distinct and somewhat paradoxical observations emerged: a sense of unpredictability alongside an awareness of trajectory. On the one hand, Lynch's body of work is more wildly diverse than is usually credited: yes, there is a special "Lynchian" mood, style, and sensibility, but within that world there is incredible flexibility, ranging from the gentle, G-rated sincerity of The Straight Story (1999) to the raw, hallucinatory terror of Inland Empire (2006). Not only does Lynch's oeuvre feature wild fluctuations in tone, look, and subject matter, these wild fluctuations often occur from one project to the next. This marathon reminded me that the wacky, light-hearted TV pilot On the Air (1992) premiered a mere month after the intensely dark and emotional Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992), while Lynch's tragic, stylish Mulholland Drive (2001) was shot around the time he recorded the gleefully juvenile Thank You Judge (2002).

Yet if Lynch can't be simplistically pigeonholed, he can - with caution and qualification - be placed. Over nearly fifty years his work, and the voice expressed in that work, has undergone gradual and long-lasting transformations: despite the variations film to film, strong patterns and an overall evolution emerge when looking at the big picture. This means not only recognizing links and echoes between far-flung films (say, the mirrored endings of Eraserhead (1977) and Fire Walk With Me) but also observing a tidal flow to the themes and styles presented onscreen. There is a chronological march in which claustrophobic panic gives way to rootless wandering, classical restraint dissolves into multilayered impressionism, and recognition of corruption from within slowly overtakes the quest against external evil. Just as in Lynch's films random experimentation and apparent non sequiturs coalesce into powerful, perhaps unintentionally resonant psychodramas, so several narrative arcs emerge when examining the totality of Lynch's expression.

The Eye of the Duck: A David Lynch retrospective, 1967 - 2013 (part one: the trees)


This is my fourth entry in David Lynch Month. It is a chronological overview of his career, including full reviews of every single feature and capsules on every available short.

This week's "Question in a World of Blue" is: Do you see particularly important turning points in David Lynch's career? You can respond in the comments below or on your own blog (please tag this entry in your response).

Over three days, I watched almost every single film Lynch has created since 1967, and as "film" I include not just features or shorts, but commercials, music videos, TV pilots, even the occasional promo tag. Next week I will examine the overall evolution of his career, in theme, storytelling, and visual style. Today I'm going to focus more on the nitty-gritty, the "trees" that make up the Lynchian "forest" (if you want to avoid spoilers, just read about the films you've seen - the only entry that contains a spoiler for a separate film is Inland Empire, which discusses the end of Eraserhead in its last paragraph). I will examine each of his works in turn, starting with Six Figures Getting Sick, a painting-in-motion installation he created as an art student in the late sixties, and concluding with Came Back Haunted, a Nine Inch Nails video so rapid-fire it contains a health disclaimer. Thus his filmmaking work begins and (for now) ends in the service of other arts - painting and music - but along the way he emerged as one of the greatest filmmakers of the twentieth century, his work appearing in cinemas, on television, and eventually streaming over the internet. He's bridged all motion-picture mediums and approaches, told stories and immersed himself in irrational imagery, accomplished himself as a humanist director of sensitive performance and a formalist photographer of abstract images.

Despite his surprising range, there is a distinctly "Lynchian" flavor to all of his films, which we'll discover as we move through them one by one. Each feature film is covered in five paragraphs (except for Blue Velvet, Fire Walk With Me, and Inland Empire, which get six, and Mulholland Drive, which gets ten), his seven TV episodes are covered in three, particularly distinctive short projects in two, and the rest of his work in single short paragraphs (often a couple commercials are discussed together). Here's what I couldn't see: a fictitious Anacin commercial (1967), the "Champions" episode of the Lynch-Frost American Chronicles (1990), a low budget video for his song "A Real Indication" (1993), HBO's Hotel Room sketch Blackout (1993), advertisements for Alka-Seltzer and American Cancer Society (both 1993), video documentary Lamp (2007), the Wild at Heart deleted-scenes "sidequel" (2008), playful greetings to the 2008 Hollyshorts awards and the 2010 Twin Peaks festival, a concert film for Duran Duran (2011), and probably dozens or even hundreds of short clips from DavidLynch.com, which aren't listed in online filmographies unless they also appeared on DVD (all I can verify missing are two episodes of his goofy Over Yonder web series, but there must be plenty more where that came from). Even with those exclusions, I covered sixty-seven titles below. For a filmmaker with only ten features under his belt, Lynch has been shockingly prolific.

Feel free to browse for the projects that interest you (it may be best to bookmark the post and return for several visits) or follow the entire overview chronologically - this retrospective can be read either way. Indeed, one could say the same of many of his films...

The Millennial Mood 1999 - 2002 • "32 Days of Movies" Day 30


Thirtieth chapter in "32 Days of Movies", an audiovisual tour through 366 films
(2015 update: included Vimeo embed after the jump)


View "Chapter 30: The Millennial Mood"


The Millennial Mood

From optimism to despair (which arrives next week), the fleeting mood of the new millennium can sometimes seem longer ago than ten years. Yet we are still living in its aftermath - here are several movies stylized to the nth degree, in a fashion that would come to characterize the new century. The clips tend either towards a candy-colored lightness or (more often, at least in this early stage) a grim, monochrome palette - color photography is more than ever a tool to capture an impression rather than a filter to catch reality.

(continued below, along with NSFW warnings)

Where is Mulholland Dr.?


For months now, I've been slowly making my way through 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die (usually in the bathroom or bedroom, as it's difficult to transport it elsewhere). It's a nifty tome to have on hand, and since I bought it at a discount I don't regret the purchase. That said, most of the prose is merely serviceable, despite the occasional splash of liveliness (usually courtesy of Jonathan Rosenbaum or, especially, Jean-Michel Frodon). What's more, the descriptions, while attempting to be succinct and introductory, are often burdened by academic jargon and strained sociopolitical readings - as if the authors can't decide whether they're writing for scholars or laymen. There are also a surprising number of gaffes, grammatical and factual, throughout the book. Granted, a tome this size (nearly 1,000 pages) must have been hard to edit but a cursory check-through should have taken care of most of the mistakes. At any rate, despite its flaws, the book mostly serves its purpose, which is to establish a rough canon of the most talked-about, popular, and/or acclaimed films in history - if not 1001 films you must see before you die, at least 1001 films you should probably know about.

However, there's one startling omission which throws the whole enterprise into question. Tonight, I was reading the entry for Lord of the Rings - all three films squeezed into two pages. True, I have my problems with the trilogy but, given its impact, its popularity, and the critical acclaim which greeted it, the saga certainly belongs in the book. As I turned the page I looked forward to another entry from 2001: Mulholland Dr. David Lynch's masterpiece, which aside from being a personal favorite (and what I consider one of only two or three great American films I've seen this decade) is also one of the most acclaimed films of the 21st century. It's controversial, to be sure, but about as noteworthy as cinema gets in the 2000s. In other words, an absolute no-brainer for this book, something I think even opponents of the film could recognize.

Yet on the next page was The Pianist. But that meant we were already into 2002, and no sign of Mulholland! I was immediately perplexed; had they gotten the wrong year for the film? (It wouldn't be the first time.) But no, as I flipped back and forth it became increasingly clear that they just hadn't bothered to include Lynch's movie. Huh? To me, that's inexplicable. It fits all the criteria for inclusion, there's plenty to discuss (just think what Frodon could have done with it!), and it's certainly a more obvious inclusion than, say, Meet the Parents, which greets us a few pages earlier. What's going on here? A massive typo in which a whole entry was accidentally excluded? I must admit I'm perplexed. What's the point of a canon which doesn't include what is by many accounts the best film of our young century?

This post was originally published on The Sun's Not Yellow.

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