Boggy Creek’s review published on Letterboxd:
"This is no longer your film..."
These six words—practically everything revolves around these six words. David Lynch's visceral nightmare—a between two worlds creation—works on the idea of expectation and deliverance, dipping its dreamlike chants into a pool of confusion and the harsh, tragic suggestion of ultimate reality. Mulholland Drive explores the deepest, darkest, and most destructive sort of expectations—for its protagonist, and for the audience, the film almost gently strums an eight minute ballad of ever-changing riffs and motifs. David Lynch suspends sensibility and logic until its transcendent moment of somewhat clarity; the puzzle is jumbled but laid out, sitting there in perfect view—through blurry sights and sounds, the spectacle of bewilderment and the next discovery is uncontrollably mystifying. Mulholland Drive is the tale of the past and the future—spinning and spinning—of love and dreams, with each of their cons and imperfections. Lynch is the realest and most surrealist filmmaker I've seen. Perhaps Mulholland Drive is that perfect demonstration of hypnotic, dreamlike art.