A love story in the city of dreams,” reads the tagline for Mulholland Drive, a phrase vague enough to conjure images of classic Hollywood romance, yet cryptic enough to signal the strange cinematic world of David Lynch. Over a career spanning more than 50 years, Lynch’s work explored complexity in nearly every framework. The term “Lynchian” entered the lexicon to describe surrealistic filmmaking, unnerving violence, and dreamlike logic spanning narrative structures. However, in the landscape of terrors and whimsy, the themes of identity ring the strongest. From the anxiety of Eraserhead to the simplicity of The Straight Story, Lynch portrayed the search for identity through dreamscapes and mystical journeys through the darkness of humanity. And through that “love story in the city of dreams,” viewers gain perhaps the clearest insight into the mind of David Lynch.
Mulholland Drive, on the surface, seems like a mystery-box noir told through the timeless story of a young girl finding her way through Hollywood. The first half reads like a Gen-X indie, told in a non-linear format across multiple points of view. Rita (Laura Harring) has lost her memory and befriends hopeful actress Betty (Naomi Watts) as she seeks her identity. Friendship turns to lovers, and the two women begin to circle the answers they seek. But this is David Lynch. Just as Rita and Betty begin to uncover the mysteries beneath the surface of LA, the film tears completely into surrealistic avant-garde cinema. It embraces the “Lynchian” ethos. The Club Silencio sequence unnerves the senses, the literal mystery box changes the narrative, and it begins to take on an ouroboros effect, circling back to the fateful night that begins Rita—or perhaps Camilla’s—amnesia.
More than any film in the Lynch catalog, Mulholland Drive overtly deals with identity. The switching of identities between Rita and Camilla, or between Betty and Diane. Actors in dual roles, opening, seeking the truth of Rita’s past. Mulholland Drive plays like a thriller with a clear end goal, but in reality, it’s an exploration of one’s personhood through the Hollywood system. It’s Lynch at his most meta, from the corruption of the executives to Naomi Watts’ incredible audition scene. Lynch is commenting on the movie industry, but without missing the classic “Lynchian” format. Characters overreact to bad espresso with absurd intensity, casually respond to nightmare storytelling, and all wrap themselves in the odyssey of Tinseltown through the eyes of Rita and Camilla’s love. It’s still David Lynch, but at his most accessible. Reading like the Rosetta Stone to the surrealism and chaos of his filmography.
Lynch works within the subconscious, like the dreams of Mulholland Drive. Blue Velvet speaks to the darkness within through the violence of suburbia. Dennis Hopper’s Frank Booth enters the film like a demon, yet exists beneath the surface of wholesome Americana with horrific malice. Eraserhead explores the fear of fatherhood through nightmarish delight. Wild at Heart sends Nic Cage and Lauren Dern on the open road as Lynch speaks to rebellion and love through the blastbeats of heavy metal. And Lost Highway and Inland Empire give a voyeuristic disturbance to the lives of musicians and performers in the City of Angels.
The search for identity manifests across Lynch’s characters and worlds. Jeffrey Beaumont finds the darkness in himself, Jack Nance confronts fear, Sailor and Lula find themselves through each other’s shared trauma, and Nikki seeks asylum from herself in a twisted Wizard of Oz-esque trek across her nightmares. Whether it’s a solitary introspection of the mind or the soul-searching of lovers, Lynch focuses on the journey rather than the answers.
On paper, even on screen, The Straight Story and The Elephant Man seem the least Lynch-coded within the canon. However, each is an open story of identity. The Straight Story sends Alvin Straight (Richard Farnsworth) across America via lawnmower. But Alvin’s journey is a vehicle for self-discovery. Alvin comes to terms with aging, death, and regret and learns to love again as he forgives his only brother. The Elephant Man plays out like a classic drama. Even the framing, black-and-white cinematography, and the cadence of Anthony Hopkins’ voice scream Golden Age of Hollywood. Yet Lynch frames the film through John learning how the world views him. It’s not triumphs of inspiration but the cold realities of cruelty. Lynch explores the twilight of life through Alvin and the verge of death with John, but never stops using them as a lens for the human experience.
To say identity is the sole focus of Lynch’s work would ignore the multitude of the man and Mulholland Drive. Lynch’s filmography can have such a dense barrier to entry that watching it can feel like decoding a new cinematic language. But finding a North Star of identity, or seeing the “Lynchian” format at its apex, as in Mulholland Drive, can provide a method to the purpose-driven madness. With cult hits like Twin Peaks, short films like What Did Jack Do?, Family Guy cameos, and the scoring of several of his own films, Lynch has an eclectic resume. Cinephiles, critics, and directors often cite Mulholland Drive among the best films of the 21st century. But Lynch never took home a competitive Oscar, BAFTA, or Emmy for any of his work. Contemporaries George Lucas and Steven Spielberg create generation-defining sagas like Star Wars and Indiana Jones. Still, when Lynch got his chance, studios marred Dune beyond recognition, without accolades or tentpole IPs; Lynch’s films must speak for themselves, and the dreamscapes of his stories guide his legacy.
Ironically, so much of David Lynch was about identity, people losing who they were in times of trauma. Yet aside from Dune, Lynch’s creative voice remains remarkably intact across his canon. No one else could have made Blue Velvet with the same nuance, no one else could have paired the wicked carnage of Willem Dafoe with the tender love story in Wild at Heart, and no one else could have brought Rita and Betty to Club Silencio. “Lynchian” films confuse the senses and unnerve the spirit, but Mulholland Drive navigates the noise to create balance. Lynch eases the audience into the fantasy of Hollywoodland before exposing the realities of the industry. But Lynch is not too harsh; he pokes fun at directors and casting choices, permeates the piece with offbeat humor, and reminds us that it’s all in the movies. Understanding the plot of Mulholland Drive may be an exercise in futility. But as demonstrated by Lynch’s work, plot is only a suggestion, and understanding Mulholland Drive’s place in Lynch’s filmography is far from futile; it’s essential to understanding the one and only David Lynch.
