David Lynch and pulling chairs out from underneath people
“What’s a good plate with nothing on it?” So asks Jay in Clerks, a movie that despite its numerous flaws still managed to be charming. I can now definitively state that a good plate with nothing on it is Mulholland Drive, which I watched last night for the first time instead of rewatching Rob Roy. “I think I liked Wild Hogs better than this,” was my girlfriend’s response to the movie, and while I can’t commit to damning Mulholland Drive with that particular faint praise, I definitely would have enjoyed my fourth or fifth viewing of Rob Roy quite a bit more.
Like the smart hellraiser in class, perhaps the most disappointing thing about this movie was how it didn’t fulfill its prodigious potential. There were moments that were definitely evocative, most notably the sequence at Teatro Silencio (I could not find a link that included the entire sequence, but here is its opening and here is its close), but these evocative moments are evocative on their own merits, not because of their relation to what could be laughingly called the narrative arc.
It’s possible to flout storytelling conventions and still tell an effective story: Tarantino did it well in Pulp Fiction and less well in Reservoir Dogs; Nolan did it in Memento; the movie Twenty Bucks can even be somewhat instructive in this regard. Each of those films consisted of vignettes that were tied back together in some kind of narrative structure. The storytellers allowed us to understand the world they were constructing and the rules by which the world functioned. Mulholland doesn’t seem to want to let us in on the joke, the vignettes periodically advance a narrative of sorts and then devolve into surrealist navel-gazing. It reminded me of Slacker, where I kept waiting for a narrative payoff that never came. I would say that watching a movie like this is like getting a handjob and having the woman walk off in the middle of the act, but, truthfully, it’s more like getting a handjob and having the woman walk off in the middle of the act, put on a clown nose and bunny ears, and then dump a gallon of heavy cream over her head. The first scenario is unfulfilling, the second is unfulfilling and puzzling, besides.
Pulling a chair from underneath someone is never funny to the person who ends up on the ground, only to the person that put them there. I think that’s what Lynch does here, and I’m sure he had a great time putting together a series of truly memorable scenes that really showcase his artistic eye. But I feel like I’m the one scowling up at him from the floor, rubbing my ass. To those who appreciate the surrealist oeuvre, maybe I’m one of those that just “doesn’t get it.” But at least in surrealist films Eternal Sunshine and Being John Malkovich when we get to the end of the rainbow there is more than a note reading “there’s no gold here.”
Rob Roy is a simple movie. A man has his money and honor stolen. He goes on a journey. Along the way, against great odds, he recovers both his money and reputation, finally slaying the story’s embodiment of evil and injustice in a thoroughly satisfying way. Mulholland, on the other hand, is emphatically not a simple movie. A woman suffers amnesia and enlists the aid of a good Samaritan to find out who she is. A cowboy confronts a director. Two hot chicks make out. A woman puts out a hit on her lesbian lover (and then, maybe, puts on a clown nose and bunny ears and dumps a gallon of heavy cream over her head, I’m not sure, I was in the bathroom at that point). In many of the ways that are most important to me, the first story is more compelling. We turn to stories to bring order to a disordered world, and the complexities of life make the traditional plot arc, as a stylized and impressionistic convention, satisfying because of our desire for order and resolution. We want to see a fundamental change in a character, that closure of the arc, not because a tradition-bound culture has told us that this is good, but because Jules’ change at the close of Pulp Fiction is cathartic and redemptive or because, in a sometimes evil and disordered world, it gladdens our hearts when a bad guy gets blown the fuck up.
Don’t get me wrong: storytellers should push the boundaries of how stories can be told, like the charming eccentricities of Big Fish or Twenty-two Stories About Springfield. If Spike Jonze and Lars van Trier and David Lynch were replaced by Michael Bay clones, the world would be a sadder place. 2012 sticks to the well-worn paths of traditional storytelling and it sucks ass. Ultimately, though, I think this movie tried too hard to break the mold.
Seriously, though, fuck Michael Bay.
Latest posts by Dooley Womack (Posts)
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Nice review…what other new release are you going to review?Heat
Seriously though I enjoyed it.
I love Mulholland Drive. i think it’s a brilliant movie, and not nearly the piece of aimless trickery you seem to be suggesting it is. It takes some analysis, but it is actually a really well-told story in my opinion.
Point taken, but it’s worth noting that Tarantino’s “ear” scene in RESERVOIR DOGS was nothing if not an overt rip-off (homage?) to the severed ear in Lynch’s BLUE VELVET, and Tarantino’s use of interconnected vignettes owes quite a bit to Lynch’s HOTEL ROOM and Jim Jarmusch’s MYSTERY TRAIN too.
If Tarantino can be lauded for one thing, it’s that he packaged those oddities for mass consumption. That’s not a bad thing necessarily, but Tarantino is inconsistent with his “tributes.” Sometimes he owns up to his fanboy qualities; other times, he insinuates his “tributes” into films without properly signalling to the audience that the material was “lifted” from far superior films.
But then, I love Lynch and I can’t stand Tarantino, so that colors my view with quite a bit of bias.
Alan:
What’s the story being delivered in Mulholland? What is the world we’re supposed to be entering? What are the rules in that world?
Michael:
I think Blue Velvet is great, and a great example of what can be done when Lynch is not trying to get as many interesting images or scenes as possible into the film, and neglecting the narrative.
I don’t necessarily think a director or storyteller needs to be slavishly devoted to attributing his inspirations… for instance, did Fight Club rip off V.A.L.I.S. by P.K. Dick? Maybe, does it really matter?
The story is that of a girl of little talent who goes to Hollywood to be an actress, fails, and creates an alternate reality in her head in which she really is beautiful and talented, but an elaborate conspiracy prevents her from achieving her goals.
There are certainly some disjointed ancillary stories, as the first hour was originally a pilot for a TV show that was filmed a year before the rest of the movie.
Dooley, I do agree with you that Lynch can be reckless with narrative structure. Sometimes that kind of non-linearity works, sometimes it comes off exactly as you describe it. I guess it all depends on expectations; mood, etc. I don’t think people should automatically give Lynch a free “genius” pass 24-7. There are times when he could definitely add more to a plotline but deliberately chooses not to, and those hjinks could occasionally be construed as cop-outs. Lazy even!
In his defense, I’d say that David is probably trying to transform the medium itself into something altogether different. That’s an ambitious task though, and it can really piss off an audience.
To add to what you said, I agree that it’s not necessarily incumbent on an artist to telegraph his influences. Lynch borrows from his heroes too. There’s something about Tarantino’s style that strikes me as dishonest and contrived, though.
I need to stop now, though, because I haven’t watched anything besides a children’s movie for the last 5 years or so, so I’m probably not qualified to offer a genuine cinematic critique.
I suppose I get somewhat irritated when instead of trying to make a story accessible, a storyteller tries to be deliberately obscure.
I’m reminded of the part of Catcher in the Rye when Holden is bitching about a pianist and says that he’s so good that he has to throw in all these trills and glissandos to show everyone how awesome he is. It’s like how I walked out of Man Who Wasn’t There thinking “I guess this was an excuse to set up lots of cool black and white shots of Billy Bob Thornton smoking.”