David Lynch's magnum opus for many is a whirlpool of rusting metal and gooey dread. Lynch's obsession with dreams is of paramount importance here where nothing, and I mean nothing, is in any kind of reality. Naomi Watts and Laura Hanning play our protagonists but who are protagonists are is a question people have been asking for years. We are also introduced to a whole host of other characters from Justin Theroux's wisecracking director Adam to a detective played by Robert Forster who spouts detective dialogue and never shows up again! Robert Forster for one scene?!? What??
It would be farcical to explain the plot to Mulholland Drive. From tiny evil OAPs to an omnipresent cowboy, Lynch uses symbols of Hollywood and the acting world as strange mythological totems, each with a message. Much like Blue Velvet, the seedy underbelly of Hollywood is brought bubbling to the surface, epitomized in the horrific street bum who lies in wait behind Winkies, a fast food joint.
Mulholland Drive is much like Lost Highway. It differs in its vibrating confidence, backed by Lynch's freedom from Canal Studios. While I would have loved to have seen an Audrey Horne spin-off, Mulholland Drive buries a body while digging a grave; it achieves the impossible.