Sorrow at the heart of it

Rating: 10/10 (16 July 2015)

Years ago this movie was aired – late one night – on a local TV station. Perhaps it was the hour, perhaps it was its brilliance, but I remember sighing out an emphatic 'What the fack??' I watched it again the next day; it failed to lessen my confusion. I watched it again the next day and I found that as my confusion faded my fascination began to creep up higher and somewhere along the way my understanding and appreciation for Mulholland Drive began to settle in – an understanding and appreciation which are still growing today – almost ten years down the line. There really is no other film quite like this David Lynch masterpiece; never before has a movie gotten into my head the way this did, and never since. It's a cerebral exercise that insists on multiple viewings to be truly realised, and its complexities will never cease to inspire.
We are introduced to 'Rita' (Laura Elena Harring) in the opening scenes of the film, being the lone survivor of a car crash on Mulholland Drive; she stumbles her way into town and ends up taking residence in an apartment of a woman departing on a trip. The apartment belongs to Betty's (Naomi Watts) aunt. As it unfolds we learn that 'Rita' is in fact not 'Rita' at all – she can't remember who she is, suffering amnesia from the crash. So Betty decides to help her find her true identity and as they tread along the path of discovery, they find something darker lurking in the unknown. Much more, I cannot really say, as I feel it would detract from the discovery and interpretations you – as a viewer – must make for yourself.
I will, however, share what the film meant to me, and keep in mind that this is simply my opinion, what I took away from the film; whether it's 'right' or 'wrong' or something you find you can't agree with – I will afford you that. It's a story of sadness; of dreams gone wrong; of loss of trust and loss of faith – of oneself; fractured realities. I found it to be, at the heart of it, a beautifully melancholy story, and this was really something I only found with the denouement. It was then that I realised the pervasive, dark sorrow on which the film hung itself. It explores often the very tenuous divide between love and hate and how so very easily those two emotions are confused. The characters are driven by their own desperation, whether the motivation lies in selfishness or spite or heartache, and the hurt that transpires from those acts – at least in the latter part of the film, anyway. It speaks of longing for something that – deep down – you know you will never have, and through that desire you find that even the most meagre pieces of that something will satisfy, even if ultimately it leads to an even deeper state of despair. There is a scene where, one night, Harring takes Watts' hand, and I felt that to be a profound gesture; I think it's overlooked of how much trust, how much hope, can go into the taking of another's hand, and just how devastating it can be to let that hand go. It is also a movie of the darkness which I believe breathes in every one of us, and how close we really are to embracing it. And while perhaps - for the most of us – we would never consciously and wilfully act on those shadowy impulses, there is always a dark fantasy world in which we would happily play.
Technically it is, of course, rather extraordinary. Lynch is a master when it comes to infusing a surreal sense of dread into his scenes; even with the bright sunshine over Los Angeles you can't really help but feeling unsettled, because inherently you know something just isn't quite right here. Add to that Badalamenti's score and what you're left sitting with is a breathing, waking nightmare you're almost thrilled to be a part of. Harring and Watts are brilliant with their dual roles and frankly, why Watts was overlooked for most of the major awards will always be something that confuses me.
And lastly: Mulholland Drive also boasts what is to me, one of the finest scenes ever committed to film: Rebekah del Rio's exquisite rendition of Roy Orbison's 'Crying' ('Llorando'); this scene never fails to (literally) send shivers up and down my spine, and really epitomises the entire theme of the film: loss.