It was only here, in Los Angeles, that it finally dawned on me: rather than an aberration, Mr. Realizing my mistake, we ambled our way down through what Google Maps identifies as the Outpost Estates, and, to complete the adventure, decided to watch the film, entirely unglamorously, on a Roku. Earlier that day, we were nearly hit by a car on the titular road, as I did not know it was not exactly walkable when I had an Uber drop us off in proximity of the fictional address where some of the film’s key events take place.
#MULHOLLAND DRIVE VIEW ARCHIVE#
After all, if we shared the same taste, felt affected so deeply by the same text, did that not then mean there was some commonality between us?įour years later, I found myself in Los Angeles with my best friend, rewatching Mulholland Drive in the small casita we called home for a few weeks, a stone’s throw from the film archive I had grown confident enough to research at. It made me uncomfortable that I shared something so intimate - a favorite film - with this person. The one time I caved and agreed to meet him, he sat waiting with an overpriced meal for two already ordered, revealing only then that it was his birthday and that he had chosen to spend it with me, trying to guilt me into something more. Cowboy” - ended up harassing me for the better part of a semester, forcefully demanding that we go for lunch or dinner or coffee to discuss the genius of Lynch. I have a theory about the cowboy…” The guy - henceforth known as “Mr. Feeling some pressure to give an appropriately lofty answer without lying altogether (other films that came to mind were mostly 1980s slashers), I told him it was Mulholland Drive. A guy I did not know asked me what my favorite film was. The air was slightly pretentious, and, with a deep love for film but a limited cinematic vocabulary, I felt both happy and intimidated. IN MY FIRST YEAR of graduate school, I went to a house party predominantly attended by film students.
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