Mulholland Drive

Mulholland Drive ★★★★★

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No, let me latch onto this dream forever. I never want to wake up. Dream comes to life. Love returns and is recreated, happiness, laughter, tears, horror, bizarre figures and…midnight Silencio proceeding from thin air. Events have gone out of order, perception/identity is buried in a car crash and characters appear to be strangely artificial. What on earth is going on, expresso on napkin and tiny old people? Silencio, silencio...Il n'est pas de orquestra. A blue key that does not provide any clear-cut explanation but instead pushes things further down an aching, empty void. David Lynch's knotty tangled fantasy unfolds in an unusual way of blending metaphors and symbolism with exquisite dark shadows, psychotic condition, creepy rumbling sounds and shuddering tragedy.

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Mulholland Dr. – Dr. stands for dream, isn’t it? A crossroad full of illusionary obsessions which amalgamate and multiply with numerous other obscure details, whether large or small, to create a very enthralling state of hallucination. Does it live up to its perplexing, mind-fuckery reputation? Yes. Bamboozling? Absolutely. Is it a mesmeric masterpiece? I would come so far to say it is. David Lynch’s alluring enigma is disconcertingly hard to interpret, similar to shattered dreams that cannot be solved or pieced back together. Is your name Rita, Diane, Camilla or Betty? If not, who are you? Time to wake up! Wake up from the bewildering aloofness and wipe off infinite drops of sweat on your forehead. Wake up to see hopes, ambitions and desires altogether heading up the highway of misery where two invisible forces - fantasy versus reality - horrifically collided. There might be no jittery chaos but 100% surely, my brain has been fried and ghastly left scattered after the crashing jolt.

Good night, sweet Betty.

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