Sumptuous and foreboding destruction of sapphic innocence at the hands of landlord's children, done at the unfeeling and lecherous behest of capital. Lynch's assessment of Hollywood as a place where innocence goes to die and become immortalized is as sweet as it is grim. The gentle humanity in Watts is tempered by explosive anger, suave seductions, and doddering double-speak from the other cast members. Audiences watch as not only her dreams are taken from her, but a comfort and a safety she thought she had.
There is a definitive blurring of realities here, as is common with later Lynch works. Mulholland Drive is effective because of this nebulousness, in that it leaves you with answers to unasked questions more than it leaves you with questions. If one accepts this film literally - as in, truly accepts it - and does not try to rationalize away its more temporal moments, the result is a startling psychological shred that jangles the nerves as much as it entrances.
Lynch's depiction of lesbian sex is much different than so many male auteurs. It is erotic, it is heavy, it is breathy and hot - but it is not explicitly pornographic. This is not something Lynch is shooting for his own enjoyment. Rather, he is trying to take the audience into those moments with the two leads. The camera enjoys this intimacy with them, together. Voyeurism is a preoccupation of Lynch's and here, he lets us in instead of making us outsiders. There's a sense of longing to their early touching and affection - almost as if Lynch himself is striving to become one with the femininity there. His empathy towards trans people makes the most sense to me because of this film.
Especially cogent is his understanding and empathy towards the ways that queer safety can be eroded under capitalist cisnormativity. A young woman who has been sheltered, who believes that she may very well be in love with another woman, has to watch as the object of her affection is not only seduced by the power of a director, but eager to toy with other women's hearts as well. This is analogous to so much queer experience, in that many of us have had that crush who we were ultimately nothing more than a curiosity to. A means to an end. Something to explore, then move on from - back to the safety of a sexuality that won't get you put on a list.
If it seems like I'm harping on this element a lot, it's because Mulholland Drive is rarely discussed in terms of queer cinema. It's discussed as a 'weird' or 'sexy' or 'upsetting' film, but never a 'queer' one. Because 'queer' film has to get made by 'queer' directors - right? Incorrect! Mulholland Drive is not only a great analogue for fame and creatives' various complicit places in its dark excesses, but it's a tremendous observed snapshot of the lesbian and bisexual experience circa the early 20th century.
A special treat was seeing Mulholland Drive on an artifact from that era - a very nice 35mm print. This is the 2nd Lynch I've seen on the format, and if you're ever presented the opportunity - this is the way to watch his films. So much of this picture comes alive in the celluloid format, from the deliberate color grading to the shot composition. The natural grain and occasional scratching adds a layer of artifice that feels intentional - another level of removal to remind us that we are watching something struck to film. Hollywood ambition and agony, immortalized by its own format.