In dreams, as the song goes, David Lynch walks and talks with you. He’s by now our premiere hypnotist—a Hitchcock off the narrative hinges—and Mulholland Drive is his Vertigo (if you can imagine a Vertigo that’s all vertigo). Once again the subject is play-acting, with Hollywood’s hanging gardens subbing in naturally for those Golden Gate psycho-vistas. And the anxiety comes not… return to article
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