SPOILERS BELOW…
You’re watching Mulholland Drive for the first time. You are as confused and disorientated as the rest of us. And then a scene from what appears to be an entirely different narrative cuts through the already puzzling narrative that you were attempting to follow. In a diner called Winkie’s, a man tells his friend or companion about a nightmare in which he dreamt there was a horrifying figure lurking behind the diner. And so unfolds one of the greatest scenes in cinema history:
What makes this scene so memorable is not only the climactic jump-scare, but how this five minute scene both works on its own solitary level, but also adds to the over-arching themes of the film. It is not so much of an interpretation as an outright fact that Mulholland Drive is a film that concerns itself heavily with dreams and alternative realities. And thus, this scene, explicitly about dreams and nightmares, is perhaps central to understanding the dreamwork that is at play in David Lynch’s surreal masterpiece.
The scene is immediately established as being dreamlike by the shot that precedes it: a woman lying down and going to sleep. What follows after continues to grapple with this idea. Lynch’s camera floats around the heads of the two men who are sat at a table discussing the dream. The camerawork has a liquidity, and appears almost gaseous in its movement, and therefore the warped and amorphous fabric of reality that exists in this dreamlike scene is established. A sense of intimacy is created through these constantly warping close-ups, and allows the viewer to feel in cooperation with the scene. This is enhanced by the fluidity of the conversation, as Lynch employs eight cuts in forty seconds between the two conversing characters, allowing a relaxed conversational feel. Despite this, the conversation has an oddball feel to it as the first man (the clear focus of the story and who we’ll call Man 1) says that he wanted to come to this specific Winkie’s because of a dream he had.
The camera maintains it’s strange fluidity, but as Man 1 begins to recount his story the cuts appear to end. In fact, there is a period of seventy seconds where Lynch refuses to cut at all. He does this in order to build tension as Man 1 tells his story. Tension is maximised by slowly unfolding story’s eeriness and sense of mystery. Man 1 appears nervous, almost scared by the prospect of his own dream, and this makes the scene feel very off-kilter. This in turn, enhances the tension the the viewer feels due to the many questions that Lynch attempts to raise here. It is this mixture of dialogue, acting and camerawork that blends to capture a dreamlike sensibility.
At first Man 2 appears interested, almost confused by Man 1’s statements. He is the audience surrogate, asking the same questions: “Why this Winkie’s?” He is almost condescending in the way that brushes off the idea of dreams reflecting reality as nonsense. However, as the scene goes on, Man 2 appears to become slightly unnerved by Man 1’s story. Therefore, our audience surrogate begins to reflect our fears and apprehensions even further, and only goes to increase the sense of eeriness that everything in the scene is working towards creating. His blasé attitude disappears, and so does the viewers. And once again he states exactly what the viewer is thinking: “So, you came to see if he’s out there.” Man 1 leans in and confirms this fact: “To get rid of this godawful feeling.” Man 2 nods and the scene is set in motion.
Man 2 quickly stands up from the table and moves over to the counter to pay the bill. Man 1 swivels with the camera to see this and we realise that reality is starting to mirror the nightmare as Man 2 is now stood exactly where he was said to have stood in the dream. And as the two men walk out of the diner, around the side, and to the back, Lynch’s camera lingers on certain elements — the telephone, the entrance sign — and we know this is because Man 1 is recognising this exact walk from his dream. Man 1 is sweating, and the tension is amplified by the fact that we know that this dream is a nightmare, and if reality mirrors such a nightmare, something nasty could be lurking around the corner. The camera cuts between the approaching man and the negative space next to the corner of the wall. And just as the tension reaches a boiling point and can hold no longer, a horrifying and disheveled creature-like woman appears from behind the wall and occupies this negative space. The sound reaches a climax, before being dulled out as Man 1 faints and the woman disappears. The scene ends here.
Many claim this to be the greatest jump-scare in cinema history. One that earns its climactic pay-off through a slow build-up of tension, as well as one that manages to frighten and shock the viewer with a scene set in the broad daylight of the city, rather than in the darkness of a haunted house or a forest. And though one of Lynch’s main intentions with this scene is to do just that — scare you — there is a lot more to it than that. The scene appears almost unrelated and random in the scheme of things, yet Lynch, a proven master of the short cinematic form, aims to establish a number of thematic conceits and ideas with this scene that easily works as a standalone piece of short cinema.
As this scene is where the film slows down and takes somewhat of a short detour, we can perhaps regard it as Lynch’s “Eye of the Duck” scene. It’s hard to tell considering the sheer amount of evocatively surreal and memorable scenes that feature in the film, but the case can certainly be made for this one.
Lynch believes that every film has an eye of the duck scene, not just his own. This is to say that all films have a particular scene that is its “jewel” — the best scene embedded within the heart of the film. Lynch uses the metaphor of a duck because he believes it is “one of the most beautiful animals”, and its natural construction can teach us lessons about abstract paintings, and in turn surrealistic cinema.
“If you study a duck, you’ll see certain things: the bill is a certain texture and a certain length; the head is a certain shape; the texture of the bill is very smooth and it has quite precise detail and reminds you somewhat of the legs (the legs are a little more rubbery). The body is big, softer, and the texture isn’t so detailed. The key to the whole duck is the eye and where it is placed. It’s like a little jewel. It’s so perfectly placed to show off a jewel — right in the middle of the head, next to this S-curve with the bill sitting out in front, but with enough distance so that the eye is very well secluded and set out. When you’re working on a film, a lot of times you can get the bill and the legs and the body and everything, but this eye of the duck is a certain scene, this jewel, that if it’s there, it’s absolutely beautiful. It’s just fantastic.”
The diner scene is arguably Lynch’s “eye of the duck” scene because it is placed right in the heart of the film, and seemingly not connected to the narrative of the film, thus it stands out amongst the chaos, in the same way that the eye of the duck stands out in the centre of its head. By doing this, Lynch is able to highlight in this scene his masterful and precise exploration of one of the film’s central conceits: dreams and reality.
“When you sleep, you don’t control your dream. I like to dive into a dream world that I’ve made, a world I chose and that I have complete control over.”
This scene serves as a reflection upon the very nature of film itself. Lynch often likes to remind us that we are watching a film, that he is the director and he is constantly toying with us. The subconscious is his tool. Man 1 explains he is “so scared like I can’t tell ya”, just like the audience. Lynch is a masterful director in the way that he uses subtle cinematic techniques in order to create a feeling of dread and uneasiness. Whilst watching Mulholland Drive, and particularly in this scene, the audience may feel these emotions, yet not be able to pinpoint exactly why — and this is Lynch’s intention.
For Lynch, films and dreams are both different and the same. He aims to make his films dreamlike through surreal scenarios, mysterious characters and events, and an exploration of the darker side of the human psyche, however, unlike dreams, he is able to control what happens in his films. Those who cannot control them are its characters, and thus it is them who are closer to dreaming. Perhaps Lynch is the “man” in the “back of this place”. Perhaps this scene is Lynch directly nodding towards his role as the director, and thus the puppeteer and author-God controlling the characters in the story. This idea can be taken further when once again referring to the idea of audience surrogates. The characters and the audience are equally helpless, and equally subjected to Lynch’s dark vision — a dark vision that borders on the realm of the horror genre. The two men are compelled to find out what lurks behind the diner, if anything at all, because Lynch is compelling them to do so. The women that appears from behind the wall can be said to represent the director’s intention as in her climactic appearance she becomes symbolic of all the tension and cinematic technique that Lynch has employed in order to build up to this moment. He is literally directing their actions in the same way that a director directs the actions of his cast and crew.
And thus, Lynch’s films achieve this sense of the dreamwork because of how his characters are compelled to put themselves in mysterious and potentially dangerous situations. Think back to some of the last dreams you had. If possible, try and remember the last nightmare you had. In this dream, did you follow a path that seemed potentially dangerous at the time, yet you felt compelled to do so as the dream pulled you along through its narrative. The answer is probably yes. In the same way that within our dreams we become subject to the whims of our own unconscious and wild mind, whilst watching a David Lynch film like Mulholland Drive — or perhaps better described as a nightmarish Lynchian vision — we are subject to the whims of the director and his visual narrative, and in turn, the multitude of impressions and emotions that are drawn out by this.
