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Remembering David Lynch: A Master Of Mystery
Remembering David Lynch: The Master Of Mystery
Seeing Lynch in conversation back in 2007 at London’s BFI Southbank, before the release of Inland Empire, I was very mindful of that fact, writing that “seeing him speak to a packed house, with that silver pompadour, that black suit and buttoned-up, tie-less shirt, made me feel like a witness to history, like seeing Picasso, Churchill or Fred Astaire.” I admired but didn’t always fully love his work after that, even trying hard with the early ’90s TV show On the Air, until I saw the astonishing Mulholland Drive in Cannes 2001, at a press screening that is etched in my memory because my friend Shari got into a fight over seats with a crazy journalist. Every time Naomi Watts and Laura Harring said “Mulholland Drive” in hushed tones, Shari nudged me and whispered, “It’s like they’re saying ‘Oxford Street’.” Nearly 25 years later, it hasn’t lost any of its power as a hallucinogenic Hollywood noir, a Sunset Boulevard for the 21st century.
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