Sunday, January 29, 2006

David Lynch and Writing

I watched David Lynch's Mulholland Drive last night for the second time. The first time I saw it (in 2002), it blew my mind, but I thought it was a very good film. This time, I appreciated it even more, even though I certainly don't claim to have it all figured out (and probably never will).

It seems people either love Lynch's work or they hate it. I've never spoken to anyone who's indifferent to Mulholland Drive. Either they're intrigued by it or find it just too confusing.

Lynch makes you work, there's no doubting it. He's not going to spell anything out for you, but he is going to provide you with what you need to make sense of the film. After watching it (and after recently reading Hal Duncan's Vellum), I began to wonder how much is too much to ask of a viewer or a reader? Is there such a thing as too much? And as a writer, how do you know when you've crossed that line?

I love to encounter films/books/musical works that challenge me. Lynch certainly challenges. So does Hal Duncan. I think as writers we need to push ourselves to find ways to challenge audiences and still keep the wheels on. It's not always easy. But who said it would be?

Now Playing = Duke Ellington and His Orchestra at Newport
Listening To = The Handmaid's Tale – Margaret Atwood

2 comments:

Andy Wolverton said...

I suspect you're right about most of his work since Twin Peaks, but the more I examine Mulholland Drive, the more thought I believe Lynch put into it. There doesn't seem to be as much "Here's something weird just for the sake of having something weird" stuff in MD.

My good friend Kelly Shaw highly recommends Magnolia. I've got to check it out soon.

Anonymous said...

There was an extensive analysis of Mulholland Drive at Salon Magazine in 2001. I haven't watched the movie while following along in the article, but I seem to remeber that the assessment made good sense. In any case, I'm long overdue for another viewing.

For an interesting counterpoint, you might try the Coen brothers' most excellent The Man Who Wasn't There, which is just as deeply meditative as Lynch's excursion, but with more linearity in the narrative.