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Saturday, January 15, 2005
Aversive Linking
* First off--as you begin thinking about your introductory papers, here's a very handy guide to MLA citation-style.
* Here's the ultimate Emersonian web-resource...
* Here's Plato's "Myth of the Cave"
* Here's a transcript of Anne Hutchinson's trial
* Here's Jonathan Edwards' Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God
* If you're looking for the syllabus, it's here
* If you're interested in my ravings about Kant, Coleridge, the Sublime and the relationship of these thinkers and ideas to Emerson's project (particularly the "transparent eyeball"), here's a little piece that I wrote on the subject, a while back (I realize that the terminology is a little obscure--and if you begin to feel that the essay is doing you more harm than good, please don't feel obligated to read on! I can answer any questions you might have in far more comprehensible terms than I am using here!):
Irrational Symbolism and the Kantian Sublime
The cluster of charged sentences surrounding the image of the
“transparent eyeball” in Nature dramatize the tensions generated by
Coleridge’s blurring of the boundary between the faculties of Reason
and the Imagination. Like most New Englanders of his era, Emerson knew
Kant primarily through the Biographia Literaria and the Aids to
Reflection. These texts were anything but faithful translations from
the original German, and the blueprint of a new monism lurked within
Coleridge’s musings upon Kant’s emphatically dualistic schema. However,
in Emerson’s seminal book, and in his work as a whole, a sense of the
inescapability of subjectivity consistently undercuts the tendency
toward mysticism.
It was perhaps inevitable that Coleridge would transform the sober
Königsberger’s Practical Reason into a faculty capable of grasping
eternal truths through poetic insight. In The Critique of Practical
Reason, Kant had written:
. . . there is a knowledge of God indeed, but only for
practical purposes, and, if we attempt to extend it to a theoretical
knowledge, we find an understanding that has intuitions, not thoughts,
a will that is directed to objects on the existence of which its
satisfaction does not in the least depend ... Now these are all
attributes of which we can form no conception that would help to the
knowledge of the object... (Kant, 345).
In
the lexicon of critical philosophy, the imagination is a faculty of
sense which crumbles in the face of the sublime, paving the way to the
“pleasing” knowledge that “every standard of sensibility [falls] short
of the ideas of reason”. In Coleridge, by contrast, we find imagination
re-christened as the “Imagination”, and its scope considerably
enlarged—to the point where it is capable of forming “all into one
graceful and intelligent whole”.
Even in Coleridge, for the most part, access to the noumenal realm
(through the strangely interfused faculties of Reason and Imagination)
is restricted to intuitions, but now it appears that these intuitions
are susceptible of incarnation within the creations of the poet. Thus,
he can triumphantly declare: “it has pleased Providence, that the
divine truths of religion should have been revealed to us in the form
of poetry” . More importantly, at the conclusion of Aids To Reflection
(which is the work Emerson knew best), Coleridge goes completely off
the Kantian rails, arguing that although the mystic mistakenly attaches
to “anomalies of his individual temperament the character of reality .
. .”, the poet “will know, that the delightful dream, which the
[mystic] tells, is a dream of truth”.
In his discussion of mysticism, Coleridge introduces the figure of
Jacob Behmen as an example of a “fanatic” who tried to force the vision
vouchsafed him down the throats of his neighbors. The very same Behman
appears in Emerson’s “The Poet”, in a similar capacity—as a fetishist
of “tedious village symbols” rather than a prophet of “universal
signs”; but in the subtle shift of emphasis, we see Emerson working to
refine the Coleridgean formulation of mysticism. The latter is
concerned primarily with the “divine truth” which even the misguided
may catch a glimpse of; the former zeroes in on the means of
apprehending (or perhaps merely indicating) the noumenal—the symbol.
Emerson’s oeuvre manifests various and conflicting attitudes toward the
possibility of a perfect correspondence between the subject and the
cosmos: from the arch-pantheism of “Brahma” to the postlapsarian gloom
of “Experience”. However, on the whole, he privileges the transportive
power of language over the terminus of the noumenal (or the
“Over-Soul”). There is no counterpart in Emerson to Coleridge’s “divine
truth” (which is basically revealed Christianity), and certainly there
is nothing like Kant’s categorical imperative. In “Self-Reliance”, he
urges the reader to “detect that gleam of light which flashes across
his mind from within”, but there is rarely any indication, in Emerson,
of what the light might disclose. The Emersonian project is an attempt
to capture that gleam in words, without reference to what may lurk
beyond it. Emerson’s commitment to the pure symbol manifests itself
most startlingly in the famous “transparent eyeball” passage. It is a
linguistic pressure cooker, which contains the wildest extremes of
pantheism and solipsism. Clearly, it is impossible to “be nothing”
whilst “seeing all”. To complicate matters, the very idea of “seeing
all” is unfathomable—to “see” is the most subjective, fragmented
operation a being can perform; in order for seeing to take place, some
exterior object must be present to be seen. Furthermore, one cannot see
oneself (at least, not the organ that does the seeing). Clearly,
Emerson has anticipated these objections by making the all-seeing
eyeball a transparent one, but this apparent solution only makes
matters worse, for, in effect, this would make the eyeball blind to
itself. Is it possible that this is how Emerson wishes us to read the
passage--that the subject must cultivate a blind spot in order to feel
the “currents of the universal being” circulating through itself?
More likely, the passage is groping toward a dramatization of the
contradictions inherent in the experience of the Kantian sublime, as
interpreted by Coleridge. When confronted by the abyss of “infinite
space” (an instance of the mathematical sublime), Emerson is “glad to
the brink of fear”, and his imagination expends itself in the creation
of a symbol without a referent, protesting all the while that it is
gaining a Coleridgean glimpse of the Divine. The transparent eyeball is
an opaque symbol, a wall of words, performing analogously to Kant’s
Reason, which papers over the sublime by positing a film of numinous
Ideas.
* well, that's enough for now, I would say!
(but I'll be adding pertinent links to the song and film entries throughout the weekend)
Happy MLK day everyone!
Dave
posted by goodkingwenceslaus, January 15, 2005 10:58 :: link:: comments
Monday, January 10, 2005
An assortment of on-line readings (including your own writings!)-- see http://www.wrac.motime.com
Our course soundtrack (which I will distribute on the first day of class):
1. "Rebel Girl" -- Bikini Kill & Joan Jett
2. "Terror Mad Visionary" -- New Kingdom
3. "Freakathon" -- Red Aunts
4. "Pure Massacre" -- Silverchair
5. "Hate the Christian Right" -- Team Dresch
6. "Killing in the Name" -- Rage Against the Machine
7. "Call the Doctor" -- Sleater-Kinney
8. "Have You Ever" -- Offspring
9. "The Masses Are Asses" -- L7
10. "By the Time I Get to Arizona" -- Public Enemy
11. "DemiRep" -- Bikini Kill & Joan Jett
12. "Shut 'em Down" -- Public Enemy
13. "Co Pilot" -- New Kingdom
14. "Spawn Again" -- Silverchair
15. "Screwing Yer Courage" -- Team Dresch
16. "I Like Fucking" -- Bikini Kill
17. "LAPD" -- Offspring
18. "Down Rodeo" -- Rage Against the Machin e
19. "TGIF" -- Le Tigre
20. "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos" -- Public Enemy
21. "Paradise Don't Come Cheap" -- New Kingdom
22. "Fight the Power" -- Public Enemy
Films:
Spike Lee -- Bamboozled
Frank Capra -- Meet John Doe
Frank Borzage -- Strange Cargo
Kimberly Peirce -- Boys Don't Cry
David Lynch -- Mulholland Dr.
David Fincher -- Fight Club
Plagiarism Disclaimer:
If
I discover that you have used another person's material without citing
it, I will give you a zero for the assignment. No explanations will be
accepted.
Assignments/Grading:
(I will hand out more specific instructions regarding each of these assignments in class as the semester progresses.)
1. A short introductory piece--what is your definition of "radicalism"? What does a radical commitment entail? (5% of grade)
2. "Policing the World": discuss the ways in which Kingdom Come, Squadron Supreme and Watchmen
address the connected problems of radical change/maintenance of order,
with reference to Emerson, Von Clausewitz, Thomas Hobbes, and the
opinions of your peers--1500 words (15% of grade)
3.
Music Critique: discuss one or more of the songs/bands on the
sountrack, with reference to the opinions of your peers and the links I
will provide -- 1000 words (10% of grade)
4. Film Critique: discuss one of our films, with reference to the opinions of your peers and the links I will provide-1000 words (10% of grade)
5.
Long paper on one of our texts. Must include references to peer
discussions and at least three outside sources. The choice of focus is
up to you (to be decided upon in consultation with me) -2000 words (30%
of grade)
6.
Written Participation (20% of grade)--This course will not function
unless you contribute your opinions to our discussion forum! The grade
will be assessed on the following basis: a maximum of 13 points for
each "letter" posted to our weekly letters page (of course you are
welcome to post more than once a week!), 4 points for posts to film
discussion lists (4 different
films--although, again, follow-up posts are welcome and encouraged!), 3
points for posts to three separate song discussion lists. Posts must be
at least 100 words in length and demonstrate some evidence of thought
in action, in order to receive credit.
7. Class Participation (10% of grade)--to be assessed based upon your participation in general class discussions.
"Typical Class":
(excepting the first 4 sessions and classes devoted to film screenings)
12:40-1:05
Small group discussions, based upon the comments submitted to class
forum--which I will print up and distribute (Tues); or progress on
upcoming assignments--i.e. peer editing (Thurs)
1:05-1:30
I will deliver an interpretation of the day's assigned reading, based
upon references to specific moments in the text and insights gleaned
from the larger philosophical, political, and aesthetic context.
1:30-1:40 Break
1:40-2:30
Class discussion, which will grow, initially, out of your comments
upon/quarrels with my interpretation/choice of contextual frame, and
hopefully spread into a more general, non-Fiore-centric debate!
Due Dates:
I will not accept any papers after the specified due dates.
Attendance Policy:
I
will be taking attendance. You have a right to miss 3 classes-any
additional absences will result in the loss of 0.25 per absence off of
your final grade. (i.e.: a student who earns a 3.5, but misses 5
classes, will receive a 3.0).
Course Schedule:
Jan 11th: Introductory lecture; formation of groups
Jan 13th: Emerson, Nature
Jan 18th: peer-edit assignment #1; Emerson "Self-Reliance", "History"
Jan 20th: Emerson "Circles", "Experience"; Assignment #1 due
(weekly discussion forum postings begin--due before 11am, each Tuesday)
Jan 25th: Kingdom Come and the Myth of the Hero
Jan 27th: movie screening: Meet John Doe
Feb 1st: Squadron Supreme #1-3
Feb 3rd: movie screening: Strange Cargo
Feb 8th: Squadron Supreme #4-9
Feb 10th: Squadron Supreme #10-12; discuss assignment #2 in groups
Feb 15th: Watchmen #1-3
Feb 17th: movie screening: Bamboozled
Feb 22nd: Watchmen # 4-6
Feb 24th: Watchmen # 7-9; discuss assignment #2 in groups
March 1st: Watchmen #10-12
March 3rd: movie screening: Fight Club; assignment #2 due
****Spring Break*****
March 15th: Dark Knight Returns #1-2
March 17th: Dark Knight Returns #3-4; discuss assignment #3 in groups
March 22nd: Locas pages 7-245; assignment #3 due
March 24th: movie screening: Boys Don't Cry
March 29th: Locas pages 246-542
March 31st: movie screening: Mulholland Dr.
April 5th: Locas pages 543-704
April 7th: Animal Man #1-4; discuss assignment #4
April 12th: Animal Man #5
April 14th: Animal Man #6-11, including Secret Origins #39; assignment #4 due
April 19th: Animal Man #12-17
April 21st: Animal Man #18-22; discuss assignment #5 in groups
April 26th: Animal Man #23-26
April 28th: full class peer-editing and general discussion of assignment #5
May 5th : class evaluations; assignment #5 due (this is our exam period)
posted by goodkingwenceslaus, January 10, 2005 00:57 :: link:: comments (3)
Boys Don't Cry -- Kimberly Peirce
Here's a good review of the film.
a sample:
As Brandon, Hilary Swank gives a performance that's a continual revelation. With his cropped, farmer-boy haircut and a padded tube sock stuffed down his jeans, Swank's Brandon passes for a man easily enough. In preparation for the role, Swank spent time in public dressed as a man, and whether her choices are intuitive or intentional, they work as a marvelous subterfuge for a character who's striving (against the cruelty of nature, unfortunately) for acceptance. Brandon's swagger seems to spring straight from his joints. His full lips are always just a little cracked and chapped (few women willingly allow this to happen). You don't actually ever forget that you're watching a woman -- but that's exactly the point. Brandon conveys his uncertainty and vulnerability in small, subtle ways, in the way he avoids a direct glance, or smiles too broadly and eagerly when he's trying to make friends. Conventionally speaking, those are "womanly" screens often used to hide insecurity; it's heartrending to see Brandon succeed so completely in filling the role of a man -- only to give himself away to us in these tiny, barely perceptible ways.
It's love at first sight when Brandon sees Chloë Sevigny's Lana, and that goes for us, too. Sevigny seems to end up being the heart of just about every movie she appears in (from the abominable "Kids" to the soggy "The Last Days of Disco"), and "Boys Don't Cry" is no exception. With her sleepy lizard eyes and her slow, secret smile, she at first seems a little inscrutable as Lana, a 19-year-old who sleep-works through the night shift in a spinach-packing factory, but who pours every essence of her being into her karaoke singing. Sevigny is the kind of actress who never gives it all away at once. We see her slowly becoming more and more comfortable with Brandon, and simultaneously, we warm up to her too. When the two of them find themselves in her darkened backyard, playing around with a Polaroid camera, we get the first clue that she really, really likes him. She swings away from him, glancing back slyly, her beguiling smile an unspoken invitation.
As an actress, Sevigny's transformative power translates not just to people (we really start loving Brandon when she does) but also to things. Her Lana is a tough, townie girl in beat-up leather, but when she oohs and ahhs over a selection of cheap silver rings at a convenience-store checkout, you don't feel pity for the poor soul because that's all she can afford. You think, "Yes, one of those would look pretty on her." You want every good thing for her character, which makes it all the more wrenching to know that there's trouble ahead. When Brandon dies, "Boys Don't Cry" reaches an emotional intensity that's almost operatic. The saddest thing, though, is seeing Sevigny's Lana crumpled over his corpse -- the way she plays it, you know that when Brandon went, he took a part of her with him, too.
I chose the film because I think it raises some really interesting questions about identity itself--
Sure, you can construe this as a simple plea for tolerance of people who are different from you, but there's a lot more going on here... For one thing, when Brandon calls himself an "asshole"--I take him at his word. A lot of his behaviour can be explained by the societal taboos that he is dealing with--but what about this very desire to be known as a "him"? The one thing that Brandon doesn't do is question the idea of gender roles themselves. Look at how happy he is, early in the film, when he gets into a bar brawl. A little later, he participates in the "bumper surfing" event--because "that's what guys do around here."
I know that you can't just dismiss an identity crisis... If I had walked into that town and declared that identity itself is a lie, I really doubt that it would have eased Brandon's mind any...and yet, the film does some of my work for me. Again, early on, Brandon asserts, rather stridently, "I'm not a dyke" (after her cousin has urged him to make this admission). And this, from my point of view, gets to the core of the problem with the way that sexuality is perceived in this society--i.e. our terms stress roles, rather than desire itself. A "dyke" is a woman that desires women. A "straight" person desires someone of the "opposite sex". We hear these words and we immediately think of the wrong thing. They force us to think of individuals, rather than the lack that makes individuality impossible.
The way I see it, desire (in the largest possible sense of the word--I'm not just talking about sex here!) is the only thing that's real. Incompleteness, alienation, "fallenness", etc. Every philosophy and religion tries to account for this fact of the human condition--and, of course, the explanatory diagnosis always contains the antidote (the venom and anti-venom are one and the same)... I'm not here to tell you whether you should or shouldn't accept any of these formulae for mental health--but, speaking for myself, I don't want to think about the causes of the disease of subjectivity, because I don't want an otherworldly "cure"... I want action now. And so I focus (as much as possible) upon the thing we try so hard to ignore--i.e. that we are desire, pure and simple, and that we can never be satisfied. The things that we want are so arbitrary...the result of infinitely complex programming...who cares why we want them? I'm more interested in thinking about what our desires drive us to do. Look at Brandon--he's so caught up in playing the role of a "guy" that he actually has to forego full participation in a sexual relationship! (and in doing so, he robs his partners of this possibility as well--this is why I agree that he has been acting like an asshole) And this is what Lana is getting at when she demands the right to reciprocate his caresses. The real tragedy of this story isn't that "society won't let Brandon just be a guy"--it's that Brandon and Lana's exploration of the ways in which love transcends gender roles is cut short.
posted by goodkingwenceslaus, January 10, 2005 00:55 :: link:: comments (23)
Fight Club -- David Fincher
I think that you can get a lot of mileage out of thinking about this movie in conjunction with Emerson's lament: "Things are in the saddle, and ride mankind".
What "things" does he mean, exactly? The newfangled gadgets that were becoming more and more a part of American life in the 19th century (and certainly would become even more central to our own lives)? The tools that have always distinguished humans from animals (including language)? Relationships themselves?
You probably remember Tyler Durden's manifesto/mantra:
"You are not the contents of you wallet you are not how much money you have in the bank you are not your fucking khakis...you are the all singing all dancing crap of the world..."
What the hell does that mean? It's easy for human beings to decide what they are not--but notice how evasive the language becomes when the speaker attempts to make some kind of a statement about what we are. Freeing yourself from thralldom to the Ikea catalogue is one thing (and I quite approve), but once you've done that, does it follow that you ought to "just let go" of every single thing you ever cared about--including people? For Tyler Durden, the answer is, manifestly, yes. And if you get lonely, just make up a friend--and then punch them in the ear.
The "freedom" that this dual-protagonist embraces is indistinguishable from death. He is not free to build an original relationship with the universe. He is merely free to court his own destruction--24 hours a day, if possible...
Is the movie saying that, in order to care about other people at all, you have to kill off the most vital (because most willing to die!) part of yourself?
How does this passage from Emerson's "Experience" relate to the film:
"Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us."
If you go questing too enthusiastically after "life" and "the self"--is there any doubt that you will soon find yourself longing for catastrophe?
discuss!
Dave
posted by goodkingwenceslaus, January 10, 2005 00:48 :: link:: comments (29)
Bamboozled -- Spike Lee
Andrew O'Hehir's piece on the film at Salon.com is really interesting!
Here's a small sample:
The story of Delacroix, an uptight buppie with a Harvard coffee mug and a dubious Francophone accent who creates a nightmarish blackface minstrel show for his fictional TV network, lies in the tension between those two potential epigraphs (or epitaphs, as the case may be). Anyone who thinks Lee is a dogmatic black racist won't be convinced by anything I have to say, and may as well turn off the computer and go back to the Wall Street Journal right now. Others will find "Bamboozled" to be a fascinating, enigmatic and, yes, shocking film, a near masterpiece ambiguously balanced between brilliance and incoherence.
On one hand, it's a furious protest against the persistent media stereotyping of blacks (or "Negroes," as the persnickety Delacroix always says) that has existed throughout American history. But Lee also suggests that blacks have become conscious and unconscious collaborators in the perpetuation of these stereotypes and must bear some responsibility for it. Delacroix's "New Millennium Minstrel Show" is sponsored by a malt liquor called Da Bomb (it comes in a bomb-shaped bottle with fins), whose commercial features a posse of writhing rappers urging viewers to "get your freak on."
posted by goodkingwenceslaus, January 10, 2005 00:46 :: link:: comments (13)
Mulholland Dr. -- David Lynch
Okay! This is a series of (unedited & hastily written--but passionate) conversations that have taken place in my little circle of net-acquaintances over the past few months...
#1: There's a man... in back of this place... He's the one that's doing it
I concur with the Flak magazine commenters' broad outline of the film, which you can download here if you haven't heard it--they don't say anything staggering, but it's smart and fun to listen to! So Mulholland Drive is the Wizard of Oz in reverse...
Still, there's more to this film than that... Interpreting "Betty's" adventures as "Diane's" "fiction-suit" protection against the rigors we are exposed to by the last half-hour works, there's no question about that, but I don't see why you have to stop there. There's no place to call "home" in this movie.
Seems to me that there's an overwhelming tendency, amongst critics and other analytical folk, to privilege the "sordid" over the "sentimental". But that's nonsense. Both are human constructions. There's nothing more "real" about a strung-out tinseltown casualty than a wide-eyed ingenue sleuth. One of the major themes of Darkling I Listen (and I'm trying it again--in something called Chimera Lucida) is the connection between romantic comedy and film noir--the fact that these two widely disparate genres affect me in very similar ways...
So why are we so sure that Diane's story is the "base" and Betty's is just "false consciousness"? Isn't it merely because most of us put up more barriers against happiness than despair? Who's to say that Betty/Diane isn't dreaming both parts of the film, after winning that jitterbug contest in Deep River Ontario? (I love that opening sequence by the way: it's like a Rorschach test made out of music, colours, and energized bodies--and isn't that what life is?) Nightmares are dreams too.
From where I sit, the only "real" things in this film are the blue key, the blue box, and the homeless "man" that's "doing it". The key is imagination, the box is experience, and the creature behind "Winkie's" is the director/artist, who strives in vain to adjudicate between these two hopelessly irreconcilable things.
The truth of this film is spread across both of its "parts". "Life" is an uninhabitable planet. Narrative is artificial atmosphere that enables us to walk upon its surface. That's why Grant Morrison's concept of the "fiction suit" (from The Filth) is so apt. But, as Emerson knew, there's no way to bring "it" nearer to ourselves.
I think my jaw dropped permanently during the wordless encounter at the studio between "Betty", Adam, and "pseudo-Camilla", who is auditioning for the role of "love interest". The scene is dominated by crazy Old Hollywood closeups of intense longing and Linda Scott's maudlin/profound bubblegum version of one of my favourite Jerome Kern songs--"I've Told Every Little Star" (why haven't I told you?). But you can't tell the Other how you feel about her/him/it, and you can't even express these feelings very accurately to yourself.
So "opening the box" isn't just "waking from a dream"--it is, literally, death. Whatever's in there cannot even be thought by human beings--despite the fact that getting in there is pretty much all we think about! The way of "optimism" and the way of "despair" intersect at the abyss (although, as Camila notes, the second way is a "short-cut"!), and Lynch's vertiginous transition between narratives at the Utopian moment of expected fulfilment (after Betty and Rita have found the box together) is one of the most incredibly affecting evocations of the Sublime in the history of cinema. Without all of this preparation, the Diane scenes (masturbating, deliberating in the darkness about whether to accept Camilla's purred invitation, the walk from the car to the party, her quiet breakdown at the dinner table, and her suicide: the nightmare counterpart of Betty/Rita's lovemaking--both are the logical climaxes of their respective narratives, and neither succeeds in rescuing the dreamer from the necessity of dreaming!) wouldn't have nearly the impact that they do.
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Ian Brill:
When my friend and I saw this in the theaters how many years ago we came out of that theater with the same sense of awe.
It might be the circumstances of my surroundings but I've always thought of this film as all types of genres of film (musicals, horror even porn) put into one film to create a type of "movie stew."
While I thought the first 2/3rds of the film was just a dream of a wannabe actress I never considered all of the film as a dream but I like the sound of it. I do like your interpretation and think I'll try to watch my DVD of this over the weekend now that I've read your post.
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Charles Reece:
I love MH, and wrote a synopsis of its structure back when it came out on dvd for some friends. There's 2 schools of thought on Lynch, that he's a irrationalist (an image that he tries to spread in his popular interviews) and that he's quite rational (but a certain type, namely one who doesn't provide answers before the question). I believe his narratives are too tightly structured to place him in the former category, as MH demonstrates (contrary to the outlook of, say, Martha Nochimson).
Your dream within a dream scenario points to what I see as Lynch's dismantling of the Hollywood dream while still using film's oneiric qualities (what's Reason to do when it falls through the rabbit hole? The only rational thing it can, adapt). There's too many specific connections between the earlier dream sequence and the later reality sequence and the embedded flashback sequences (e.g., the key being there and then missing and how it clears up the significance of the box) for me to believe that this segment is on the same plane as the earlier one. But the last shot of the ghosts over Hollywood, in what seems a nod to Anger's cover to Hollywood Babylon (but it's a been a little while since I've seen the film), seems to either be a nod to Hollywood's potential and inevitable lure, or a final bit of cynicism, or (probably) both. Anyway, the film strikes me as using dream (i.e., film) to critique dream (i.e., the Dream Factory) while casting a skeptical eye on itself (i.e., being a continuation of the factory through it's allusions to Classic Hollywood to reinforce its meanings, such as the reversal of the homosexual love triangle from GILDA, from which Rita gets her name). But I look forward to hearing the commentary to see where they go with it. Thanks.
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#2: Let's Keep Talking About Mulholland Drive, Shall We?
Good stuff Charles! Although, just to defend my interpretation a bit, what do you make of the fact that "Silencio" is present in both parts of the film--and, even more importantly, that Betty & Rita see Diane dead before this tableau can possibly have taken shape in "real" life? I don't think there are any definite answers to this question, and there certainly is a lot of textual evidence to support the Diane-is-real/Betty's-a-dream interpretation... Still, even if that's what Lynch intended, he can't (as you say) seem to help undermining himself with stuff that doesn't fit with the rational explanation, and I love that! It doesn't suit me at all to believe that the only thing in that box is one paltry crime of passion!
Couldn't the correspondences be more of a comment upon the fact that, no matter what "mode" we think we are dreaming in, we always dream according to certain patterns? And we're never quite able to dream (or live or think!) our way past the moment of ultimate fulfilment/catastrophe? If this were merely the story of one woman's disillusionment, it could never have held my brain in its thrall for this long! I prefer to think of the film as a breathtaking expresson of my own personal credo--the universe isn't broken, it is a break-up!
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Ian Brill:
I don't mind MH talk, it really is one of my favorite films. On the subject of Lynch undermining so there is no rational explanation: I think Lynch has created a sort of mystery that isn't meant to be solved as much as it is meant to be admired for being such a mystery. Not that trading interpretations isn't fun and stimulating but it seems once someone thinks they've got "the answer" you'll find Lynch put something in the film to throw a theory off. What of the clues Lynch includes in the DVD package? I don't think those help anybody solve anything as much as they are just more red herrings to throw you off. That Lynch, he's such a trickster! **********************************************************************************************************************************************************
Abhay Khosla:
mullholland drive has a structure, but is it a "tight" structure? well, its rigorous to itself-- the wacky hitman scene and the director versus the pool boy scene both share the same comedic tone, the bit where the underlings communicates with the single-word speaking midget-y boss occupies the same sense of dread as the Cowboy scenes.
but while i know you dislike considering authorship questions (which... may be oversimplifying or mis-stating and i apologize), the thing i'm always stunned by at the end of mullholland drive is its origin as an ABC television pilot and that sense that he found the movie after that experience had been completed. early on in the movie, it does have a television aura to it (that robert forster cop scene, say)(its what i like about the movie, that so many scenes have so narrative point besides their own texture and, i don't know, sensation), but for an organically created work ... the logic of it feels inescapable. and that organic feel sort of emphasizes the dream like quality in a way. i have a hard time divorcing myself from that knowledge, i guess, is basically all i'm saying here.
(for interest re: the pilot, the tad friend article from the new yorker is a fun read(though likely not one useful for your purposes at all)... i like friend's entertainment writing in the new yorker so i was happy when i found this: http://www.lynchnet.com/mdrive/newyorker.html)
and as for "Diane is real"... given the last image of the movie or second to last (the bit with the old people i need to watch through my fingers), even accepting that premise she can only be real to a point. but again, i'm not sure i watch with that same interest as the more interesting character to me is the Lynch Los Angeles, and Diane and Betty-- neither of those are the real Los Angeles, they're both just opposite poles. though i've never really grasped how the Cowboy fits into Diane's Los Angeles but i overfetishize the Cowboy who's really not that interesting a character probably (besides on the surface -- that guy's cool!- level)... and just that idea that whichever universe you occupy, the other one winds up in your dreams whether you want it there or not... its hard to get wrapped up in the Diane-Betty question since both those Los Angeles's are ... equally unreal places (well, Diane maybe slightly less so)...
geez, sorry, i'm not sure i have much coherent to say about it, but its a fun movie.
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Charles Reece:
Regarding 'silencio': I'm pretty sure that Lynch got that from Fellini. Unfortunately, I can't remember which movie: it's either LA STRADA or THE WHITE SHEIK where the word figures prominently (I think it's the former, which is about surviving crushed dreams, after all), but I'd have to go back and rewatch both to make sure. That and his blue-haired lady are allusions to one of Lynch's favorite directors. I'll have to watch the film again, but it's my memory that the word appears every time Betty/Diane (and the audience) is awakened a little more. Consequently, it's the last word of the film. Just so we're on the same page, Dave, there's 3 narrative realms in the film: the dream, reality and the flashback. The last is embedded in the second, and the second follows the first. Lynch seems to be fixated on destiny figures, such as the White Witch in WILD AT HEART and the Bum and/or the Blue Haired Lady here. I'd argue that the mechanical bird at end of BLUE VELVET functions similarly, namely as a medium between the diegetic and the audience, questioning the reality of the story and of the audience's reception. Anyway, the dream characters are brought back at the end, which suggests to me, not that everything in the diegesis is pure dream, but that anything within the film is artifice ("dream"). But, as the emotive power of the film should indicate, Lynch is a real believer in the artifice.
Anyway, to Ian, 'silencio' is one example where those dvd clues aren't red herrings. What I'd recommend is coming up with a hypothesis of the film and then testing them against those clues. At least, that's what I did, not reading them until after I'd come up with some possible explanations. Another example is the key on the table. It's the "key" for for understanding the difference between what's flashback and what's present in the final 3rd. Anoher is the opening sequence containing the jitterbug (Diane's past) and the subjective shot going towards the red pillow. I either can't remember or haven't worked out some of the others, but I'm inclined to think all are actual clues to the authorial intent.
p.s., before anyone suggests that 'silencio' is Spanish for 'silence,' I found this Italian proverb on the web:
"Il silencio è d'oro e la parola è d'argento." (Speech is silver, silence is golden.)
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Adam Pound:
First, I haven't listened to the Flak commentary, so forgive me if I'm repeating that interpretation.
Now, I'm always surprised at how people view Mulholland Drive primarily as an intellectual mystery to be solved, rather than as one of the saddest, most emotionally devastating movies ever made. Anyway, I'll get back to that. Here are some thoughts...
As far as the two halves of the movie being equally 'real', I think that the film's structure itself prevents that interpretation: the fact that the second half comes temporally after the first immediately makes it more 'real'. Also, it's clearly Diane who falls asleep at the beginning of the movie, as her awakening before 'the second half' is clearly a counterpoint to that beginning. Taking it as a given that Diane is the 'narrator' of the first half, the interesting question, to me, is whether she is still the 'narrator' of the second half. The striking difference between the two halves is that in the first half Betty is never judged (Rita is a non-entity, which Betty/Diane can form as she will), while in the second half she is always judged-- she is cast out of her 'small god' status, cast out into the world, always aware (almost exclusively) of how other people judge her. The distinction has little to do with 'sordid' versus 'sentimental', and everything to do with experiencing the world as being-for-yourself versus being-for-others (to steal Hegel and Sartre's terms). This is why the second half seems more real-- because Camilla is an Other as Rita is not-- Camilla can judge Diane, and Diane is always aware of herself as an object to be judged. Since Camilla's judgements seem imbued with cruelty, I think that it is still Diane who 'narrates' the second half-- an omniscient narrator would not be so subjective. Which only supports your view that both halves are equally real: each half presents a picture of a mode of existence, and both modes of experiencing the world are equally real, and are interdependent.
But, as I said before, the second half is more real because it comes after the first, which brings me to the movie's 'plot'. You describe it as 'one woman's disillusionment', but that strikes me as a tremendous oversimplification. It's not disillusionment, it's heartbreak-- the realization that the Other whom Diane loved (i.e. whom she wanted to be an object for) has chosen another object instead. Since Diane's objectivity has been cast aside by Camilla, her place as an object in the world is unstable, and she can only view herself as the repulsive object that tried desperately to cling to the Subject (Camilla). Thus, she tries desperately to reassert her Subjectivity, by reducing the other Subject to an object-- which she can only do by killing it (a drastic Eternal Sunshine procedure). And isn't this what so many people do after a breakup, when they suddenly decide they must hate that person who they loved a month or two earlier? Of course, Diane really did love Camilla, she really did view her as the ultimate Subject; so, having killed Camilla, Diane only exists through her memories of Camilla-- specifically, memories of killing her. Having killed the infinite subject, Diane has no choice but to kill herself, the finite object.
All of which is why I think the walk up the wooded path to the party is the most stunning scene in the movie, and is filled with an almost unbearable sadness. Although the bubblegum-love-song audition scene is also pretty spectacular.
Of course, I haven't even mentioned the 'dream of Hollywood', which is the dream of being loved by the world, and so reappropriating the world by becoming the central object in it. This seems to be secondary to the love story (although of course they're similar existential stories): Betty chooses to return to Rita in the midst of the audition scene, when she clearly 'could have had it all' right then.
Wow, this turned out to be really long. Anyway, thanks for the many interesting thoughts.
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Dave Fiore:
thanks for the input folks!
Adam:I really like your manner of distinguishing between the two narratives--it's the difference between screwball comedy (in which the protagonists seem to have the freedom to make anything they wish of their lives/story) and film noir (in which powerless figures of desire are pulled by their heartstrings toward an inevitable doom)...
But don't forget! Betty isn't nearly as "free" in her storyline as she (and you) are claiming!
1. if this is a dream (and of course it is), then all of it--including the Adam parts--are expressions of Betty/Diane's plight... "This is the girl!" is not merely a nod to weird Hollywood politics, it's a statement about romantic obsession. Wouldn't you consider the Cowboy's whole speech a judgment of Betty? (the Flak guys interpret it as Diane's vengeance upon/castration of Adam, and there may be something to that--but I don't feel it myself! One of the reasons the audition scene hits me so hard is that, right there, we realize, without quite understanding it, that, in the context of the Betty narrative, Betty is Adam!)
I agree with you about the power of the walk up the hillside. Perhaps it sounded dismissive when I described the "Diane is real" interpretation as reducible to the statement that "this is a story about one woman's disillusionment", but I assure you, I do feel the emotional weight of the Diane sequences (although I don't want to choose between feeling the film and thinking about the structure--I'm compelled to do both!)... I think both aspects of the film are part wish-fulfilment and part self-torture/castigation/admission of powerlessness... "This is the Other I must love" isn't so different, after all, from "this is the Other I must kill"... Each of these hard-determinisms force an ending, an opening of the box, and a silence...
keep 'em comin'!!!
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Adam Pound:
Regarding the compulsion to both 'feel the film' and 'think about it's structure', I couldn't agree more! Of recent films, only Magnolia inspires the same degree of both compulsions.
So, then... You're right, Betty isn't entirely free-- sorry if I implied that. It's Diane, the narrator, who has the power in Betty's narrative: Betty is how Diane wishes she were, and, as such, Betty is an object for Diane. To steal some more terms from Sartre, Betty is the positional self and Diane is the non-positional self (though only in Betty's narrative). But, as far as I'm concerned, even the non-positional self, the 'pure' self isn't really free, though it has power; and this is especially true in Mulholland Drive. Diane has no control over how she views herself, either in her wishful thinking or in her self-loathing-- she has no control over her own narration. The only person who has any control is the 'man in back of this place'.
I'll have to watch the Cowboy scene again to see if I agree that his speech is a judgement of Betty, but I definitely agree that it's not a vengeance upon Adam. Adam is presented as an entirely sympathetic character in Betty's narrative-- it's only in Diane's narrative that Adam is portrayed as despicable. I took this to mean that Diane, in her role as narrator of Betty's narrative, had the capacity to forgive Adam, to view him as 'put upon' as she was (have you seen the Good Girl? It's great). But, as you say, the Adam she forgives is really only a part of herself, part of the story she wishes were her story. I also agree that each narrative contains some degree of the other's defining characteristic; just like experience, the different modes of narrative continually fold together, and, as you say, they also continaully break apart. (It's the Hegelian dialectic depicted in movie form!)
As for loving the Other being similar to killing the Other (or at least similar compulsions), both are certainly driven by the same desire for self-unification (by trying to make oneself entirely object in the first case, entirely subject in the second case), but the way the experiences play out are certainly wildly different!
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Charles Reece:
A few other thoughts:
It's often been said that Lynch is skeptical of language, and MH seems to support that. Hence, silence reveals artifice, leading to realization. The apex of this being at Club Silencio where singing keeps going after the singer stops and instruments keep playing after the player stops. It's immediately after that that the dream breaks down.
And I agree with Adam that the film moves from interiority to exteriority, with all the characters in the first part being a constructed extension of the real Diane ("Betty").
On intellect and emotion: Contrary to the popular division and even some of Lynch's own protestations, the more one thinks about his films (but particularly LOST HIGHWAY and MH), the more emotive they become. For example, the more you understand the story of MH, the more feeling you get out of the Crying scene. At least, that's the way it worked for me. All of this isn't so surprising if one makes the analytic distinction between emotion and feeling, the former (as Noel Carroll argues) has a conceptual component. Lynch's films evoke a lot of feeling (sentiment?), but always filtered through thought.
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Dave Fiore:
Charles (it was Charles right?) wrote:
On intellect and emotion: Contrary to the popular division and even some of Lynch's own protestations, the more one thinks about his films (but particularly LOST HIGHWAY and MH), the more emotive they become
Absolutely! And it's no accident that these two are far and away my favourite Lynch films! I'm not interested in "puzzle films" (I never want to see Memento again--sure it's fun, but what does it have to say about the human condition? nothing powerful, that's for sure. In the final analysis, it's basically just a cinematic version of those SAT questions that ask you to find the next number in the sequence...I kind of like doing them, but once once they're done, that's it! They don't stay with you. That's certainly not the case with Lynch...)
Ultimately, affect and intellect can't be separated from one another! The only reason things affect us is because we are able to conceive of them otherwise! That's pretty basic, but it's true, I think. We tend to be overwhelmed by emotion when the unexpected occurs--but there is no "unexpected" without expectation... There is no joy without our ability to conceive the reverse; likewise, there's no mourning without memory, which both reifies and plays variations on past experience... This is big game--and Lynch pursues it relentlessly!
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Bruce Baugh:
I'm partial to the view that there just isn't a "real" layer in Lynch's films, at least not the ones of his I like best (Mulholland Drive and Lost Highway). I have the impression from interviews that this is closest to his view of things: everything that is solid melts into air, to steal a phrase. ("Trifles light as air", to steal from Alan Moore, while I'm at it.) We project ourselves into the hopes and fears of others; they project themselves into ours; time and chance happen to us all.
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Dave Fiore:
Bruce, we are complete accord in this matter!
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Josiah:
I think that Lynch's films are very logical, but they follow dream logic, which tends to be much more intuitive and fanciful than the real world variety.
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#3: Why/Haven't I/Told You?
Did you know that you could easily spend the rest of your life reading net-musings about Lynch's Mulholland Dr.? Last year, I contributed some words of my own to the tower of babble--but I'm back for more, thanks to Mark K-Punk:
The ‘standard’ interpretation of Mulholland Dr claims that its first two-thirds are the fantasy/ dream of failed two-bit actress Diane Selwyn, whose actual life is allegedly depicted, in all its quotidian squalor, in the final section of the film. This would underscore MD’s striking similarities to The Singing Detective, whose complexly-interacting narrative lines are weaved from the fantasies and memories of the convalescent pulp author, Philip E Marlow (Michael Gambon). Yet such a reading is ultimately unsatisfactory. As Timothy Takemoto argues, (you have to scroll down to his piece, ‘Double Dreams in Hollywood’) to see the second part of Mulholland Dr as real is inherently conservative in its assumption that there is an unambiguous reality to which we can ‘return’.
Following Zizek, Takemoto suggests that what MD presents is not an exposed ‘reality’ but a ‘grey fog’ of competing, incommensurable realities, from which desire and will are never extricable. (An homologous case is Kubrick’s near-contemporaneous Eyes Wide Shut, which is standardly interpreted as entirely the dream of the protagonist, Tom Cruise’s Bill. What this reading of Eyes Wide Shut has in common with the dominant readings of Mulholland Dr is a confidence in the possibility of parsing reality from desire, a distinction which both films disturb, as the very title of Kubrick’s film indicates).
Where was Mark back when Charles and I were having it out in the threads? Clearly, I share his hostility to the Wizard of Ozzing of the film. We're a strange species--the only thing we like better than a mystery is a solution (especially a hard-bought one). Unfortunately, the only way to secure that final-Grail piece is to sell the quest short. You know there's always something missing. You know, because what's missing is "you".
This is the age of the second person singular--and we missed it.
We always do.
Mulholland Dr. is its prophet and encomiast.
Play it. Watch it. Play it again. There's no stopping it, really... Oh sure, life goes on--but there's no shaking that prison-bar pause sign, once you've succumbed to this film.
What I find strange is that none of the fascinating pieces that I've read (and I've barely scratched the surface, of course) really does much of anything with--for me--the key scene. Oh sure Silencio is breathtaking, that first conversation in Winkie's lays the foundations for a free-fall and Diane hooked by the phone is intense...but the heart of the film beats somewhere between here
and here:
and what song is playing during this charmed interval?
I make up things to say on my way to you,
On my way to you, I find things to say.
I can write poems too, When you're far away,
When you're far away, I write poems too.
But when you are near, my lips go dry,
When you are near, I only sigh, Oh, dear.
Refrain:
I've told ev'ry little star,
Just how sweet I think you are,
Why haven't I told you?
I've told ripples in a brook,
Made my heart an open book,
Why haven't I told you?
Friends ask me:
Am I in love?
I always answer "Yes",
Might as well confess,
If I don't they guess.
Maybe you know it too,
Oh, my darling, if you do,
Why haven't you told me?
"I've Told Ev'ry Little Star" (composed by Jerome Kern, with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II, and deliciously bubble-gummed by Linda Scott) The scene comes exactly halfway through the film, and it's more of a turning point, as far as I'm concerned, than the belated switch-over between Betty's tale and Diane's. Up until this moment, we've been splitting our time between following Betty & Rita's screwball sleuthing and Adam Kesher's bizarre game of "High Noon" with fate. Many people have identified the director and the actress as two aspects of the same dreamer, and I'm right on board with that, so far as it goes--but where exactly does it go? I mean, there it is--the actor (or purposive self) being seen in the way that every one of us wants to be seen (as a ray from the heavens), and the director (or interpretive self) catching that lightning in a looking-glass bottle...but the much anticipated moment of integration never comes! These two halves remain have-nots--Betty has to leave to keep her date with Rita (a date which will bring them face to face with Diane's corpse) and Adam is compelled to refocus his gaze upon the lip-synched spectacle on stage, an elaborate cue for him to speak the much-rehearsed line: "this is the girl".
And that's it...third-person triumphant!
Forget about not being able to tell "you" what you've always wanted to say...these two candidates for "wholeness" never even meet. As Derrida would say, no letter (especially not a love letter) ever reaches its destination. Each of us spends our entire lives trying to reduce that third person by one--and ramming our heads into "the girl" or "the boy" of our dreams. You can't tell the "whole truth" to a person that you aren't directly addressing, and no one has ever found that Northwest passage to "you". The "shortcuts" (like the one that Camilla unveils to Diane after pulling her from the limo on Mulholland Dr.) aren't even paved with good intentions, but they do lead straight to Hell (which, Sartre to the contrary, is most definitely not "other people".)
And that brings me back to the twin fantasies of pure communion (in love and in hate) that the film offers us--the first in Betty's impossibly poignant declaration "I'm in love with you" (the very expression of which exposes the unreality of her story and her supposed interlocutor) and the second in the consummation of Diane's plot to kill the (sublime) object of her desire... After each of these events, there is only Silencio--and the stark emptiness of a box that isn't a box, but an airlock, sealed against the vacuum of radical otherness. There isn't anyone that wouldn't give their lives to be sucked up into that space--to address those emotions, at long last, to the appropriate place--but the words die still-born in a void. That's why "I" haven't told "you"--and maybe it's a lucky thing too!
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Paul:
What do you think of Lost Highway? Much of what you say in regards to Mulhullond Drive is even more true of Lynch's prior film. LH for me is all a dream with no reality, but most importantly it is the viewer's dream, not any character's, and the movie demands of you "WHY are you having this dream? What does it mean to you?"
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Charles Reece:
I've been watching oeuvres lately and right now I'm going through Lang's (reading Gunning's great book as I go along). But, I'm going to MH again tonight, just to refresh my memory. I'll say that I remain skeptical of any view which doesn't acknowledge what's in a film, namely MH's 2 levels of reality. The first 2/3 is not the same diegesis as the final 1/3 and has tons of linking elements that set up the latter as a ground for the former. But I'll be back.
LH is precursor to MH, in which Lynch borrows a good bit to work out problems of having a pilot that he needs to turn into a feature film. My own theory is that Pullman is being electrocuted at the end after losing his identity in his own personal film, a dream of death.
Also, one doesn't have to accept the final 1/3 as "real" to accept the other portion as diegetic dream. I think Lynch in both LH and MH is playing with filmic reality as artifice, where multiple characters become one, like that of an author's. The "reality" segment is still created within a film.
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Dave Fiore:
Paul! I love Lost Highway too (although it's been a long time since I've seen it and the bastards won't put it out on DVD...I don't have a VCR anymore...) The difference between the earlier film and Mulholland Dr., for me, is that, in the first, we only get the horror of alienation, so to speak... in the second, we certainly get that, but, more importantly, we get the horror of an--almost--perfect communion too!
If LH asks:"why are you dreaming this dream?", MD asks: "how could you possibly dream anything else?"
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Charles Reece:
I actually think there's quite a few similarities between Lynch and Lang: a concern with destiny and desire, where destiny isn't merely given to us by a god, but constructed on a reality of desire. Lynch also loves to put into his films destiny figures: the Good Witch, the Blue-Haired Lady/maybe the Crazy Bum, the mechanical bird, the Mystery Man.
Welp, I watched it again and took some notes. One interesting factor in this that's not been commented on as far as I've read is how much Lynch borrows from his previous films:
1. Rita wandering around, blood trickling from her hairline after a car wreck, cf. WILD AT HEART.
2. Mr. Roque (pronounced 'Rook' as in chess), controlling things from a curtained room, cf. TWIN PEAKS (including chess reference).
3. The Cowboy with a too-big white hat, cf. THE COWBOY AND THE FRENCHMAN.
4. Shifting identities has been the one parallel most noticed, cf. LOST HIGHWAY.
5. What should've been the most obvious, but I don't think anyone has: Rebeka del Rio singing Roy Orbison to a tape (funnily enough, of Rebeka del Rio singing Roy Orbison), cf. BLUE VELVET.
Maybe people want to make something out of 1 and 3, but I'd suggest Lynch loves car wrecks and silly cowboys, the grotesque (see his art of rotting animals) and cheap Americana (see just about any of his stuff). The interesting thing about 2 is that not even Martha Nochimson, who spends a lot of page space on the meaning of the curtained room, as a place of transcendence or where reality becomes possible, has anything to say about why a funny controlling agent who looks quite a bit like a homunculus would be sitting in one of Lynch's favorite rooms. Mr. Roque is the agent of destiny in Diane's dream, controlling Adam, telling him who is "the girl". But he's a construct built on Diane's desire and won't be seen again in the final 3rd. Why is that, if the last 3rd doesn't serve as some basis for the first 2/3's? Mr. Roque's not in control, he's a chess piece. But, just like in TWIN PEAKS, the game isn't what it seems.
As for 4, much has been written, including how it links the film to VERTIGO, so I won't say much, except to question the irrealist reading of Lynch. FTR, I don't think Lynch is irrational, feeling-based, or some anti-metanarrative theorist. Sure, some people shift names, but do they shift identities? Betty loves Rita and Diane loves Camilla. Adam is a director and Adam is a director. Coco is an old Hollywood grand damme and she still seems to be as Adam's mother, Coco. The waitress at Winkie's is the same waitress, just with the name Diane shifting to Betty. Anyway, you get the point. When you have a dream of a loved one acting bizarrely, like I used to have of my sweet mother chasing me around with an axe in a cheap horror film, is the dream still bizarre if the dream doesn't connect up to reality? I'd say no. Likewise, the tragedy, and I think that's what Lynch has created, a tragedy brought on by Dianne's desire and leading Betty to her necessary conclusion, loses its impact if all segments of the film are merely unreal, competing realities. It's interesting that the most prominent interpretations I've seen all fall into the postmodern camp, but that's not the "conservative" one. Isn't it time that we simply recognize the anti-"metanarrative" reading as just another metanarrative. Come on, do we have to still live in 70s film theory?
Consider, further, number 5. Lynch plays on an old joke of his, and one of his most memorable scenes, by doing himself one better: he has del Rio playing herself, lipsyncing to her own song, a Spanish cover of Orbison. This joke loses much of its humor if (1) you fail to recognize the reality of del Rio, an actual person, (2) its connection to the very real oeuvre of Lynch and (3) how its reality might differ from the rest of the film. I note that Betty and Rita stop crying once del Rio falls to the floor, but the music keeps going. That's an odd reaction if everything is equally unreal. It's true that Lynch calls into question the reality of the "reality sequence" (the final 3rd), by putting in the dream characters of the Bum and the Blue-Haired Lady, but that doesn't mean that *within the film* there's not a reality which informs the dream within the film, only that the diegesis isn't reality, despite our emotional involvement, as the real del Rio can attest. Stripping that away, the film loses much of its emotive impact, just like Lynch's joke, and why the girls stop crying once the mechanism has been laid bare.
Does Lynch connect all of this in a purely rational, conscious way? Probably not. But, even if he's purely intuitively driven (which I think isn't very likely given all the puns, rhymes and connections that appear in his films), who's to say his intuitions aren't fairly rational, or coherent?
I could go on (and how), but that's enough for now.
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Dave Fiore:
this is all good stuff Charles, but I don't agree with your assumption that affect must be rooted in some kind of ontological ground... feelings are feelings, and it's a romantic fantasy (you could argue, of course, that my own point of view is premised upon another type of romantic fantasy--and you'd be right!) to believe that just because you feel something intensely, it must therefore be real... who says so?
your point about the song at silencio is a great one though--the song goes on, but when the auditors lose their belief that it is being sung to them, it loses its power... so yeah, no question, humans crave "the real"--but does it follow that they ever get it? or do they just go on manufacturing it, constantly attempting to replace the parts that time and chaos inevitably corrode, before the mechanism (fragile--and fractured--consciousness itself) completely breaks down? (as it surely does in Betty/Diane's case?)
my point is that D/B's breakdown ought to viewed as the result of a loss of faith in both love and hate as effective routes to "the real"... her problem is that she can't think her way past the notion that "this (particular) girl" is the pole star (the "reality", in fact) by whose light she must orient herself...
she becomes nostalgic for the object of a desire that precedes their encounter...mistaking the object for the desire itself...that's a danger that each of us faces--and that's why this film is so poignant... memory is a curse--but the ability to make new ones is a blessing--and the only thing that keeps us going...
Diane/Betty loses faith in her ability to ever make anything "real" again--and once that happens, you are dead!
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Charles Reece:
--------" this is all good stuff Charles"
Right back atcha.
I'm not so concerned with an ontological ground as I am with reference. An object term without an object (of some sort) isn't an object term, but an empty signifier, a sound string. The reality of a feeling is the feeling, just like the sound string is real. Sorry for this tautological shit, but the ontological importance of a feeling is that you're feeling it. The degree to which an emotion has significance, however, is what it's linked up with, its reference. If I'm feeling happy after hearing about my dog dying and I loved the dog, you'd say that's not a proper emotion. The feeling, however, would still have happened. Even if the emotion is brought on by a manufactured diegesis, it doesn't mean that the emotion isn't valid. I think, contrary to the subjectivist take on Lynch, he gives us something like a Goodman-like relativism (which is why I like him): we are as rational as we can be with what's given. That's not the same thing as saying everything is equally true. I think MH pretty clearly sets up different levels of reality, but the connection between them is a subjectivity. Do we crave the real? Yeah, otherwise everything and nothing is just shit. Just because we don't get a transcendent viewpoint doesn't mean everything is nothing, manufactured on the fly by whoever is doing the manufacturing. MH shows that there's real responsibility to one's actions, even if those responsibilities fall out of the desire that led to the actions. I can't imagine what anyone would see as sad about the story of Betty if they didn't acknowledge something about Diane killing Camilla. That's what gives the dream it's emotive force. Putting both segments (Betty and Diane's) on the same level makes hash out of the story, resulting in something like destiny being controlled from without (Nochimson insists it's Mr. Roque changing Betty into Diane -- ugh). The dream says something about Diane's reality, gives meaning to it -- I'm not denying that. However, Lynch doesn't stop there, but goes on to implement the audience, "silencio", i.e., what does this story say about you? (There's also a similar use of silencio here to the way the videocassette is used in LOST HIGHWAY, it keeps reminding the subject to face the facts.) I think it's necessary to recongize the different grounds here, and how the more dream-like worlds (Diane's flashback for her dream, Betty's for Diane's reality, Diane's reality for us) serve as interpretants for the (shifting) ground. It's an interaction of the subjective with the objective, not one or the other.
--------"my point is that D/B's breakdown ought to viewed as the result of a loss of faith in both love and hate as effective routes to "the real"... her problem is that she can't think her way past the notion that "this (particular) girl" is the pole star (the "reality", in fact) by whose light she must orient herself... "
I definitely agree that Camilla serves as Diane's desideratum, but I think there are very real consequences.
-------"Diane/Betty loses faith in her ability to ever make anything "real" again--and once that happens, you are dead!"
Well, that and a gunshot.
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Dave Fiore:
the wonderment continues!
I like what you're saying here Charles...and yet, I resist!
I would call Rita/Camilla/the idea contained within the imperative "this is the girl" (and all referrents in fact!) Betty/Diane's (and paint-smeared-Adam's!) idolodulia (as opposed to her/his desideratum)...
I'm pulling this word from Calvin's Institutes...
While the whole world teems with these and similar delusions, and the fact is perfectly notorious, we, who have brought back the worship of the one God to the rule of his Word, we, who are blameless in this matter, and have purged our churches, not only of idolatry but of superstition also, are accused of violating the worship of God, because we have discarded the worship of images, that is, as we call it, idolatry, but as our adversaries will have it, idolodulia.
I think that Lynch--like Calvin--is saying...hey! there may be a referrent (God, for Calvin), but it is absolutely inacessible to you... and the heartbreakingly human dream of building some ultimate bridge across the gulf between the subject and the object will get you nowhere...
and the best bridges (i.e. those which appear most stable) are the surest routes to hell!
you want to put pressure on the tragedy of Diane's enraged decision to kill Camilla, in light of Betty's overwhelmingly beneficent love for Rita... I want to put pressure upon the idea that these emotions themselves are the tragedy ... you want to hold Diane accountable for her actions (and so do I)--and yet, it's hard to imagine how these events--in either of our accounts--can have played out any other way (does B/D have the power not to want to kill Camilla? does she have the power not to focus the sum total of her desire upon one ersatz sunstitute for the inacessible other?)
If we accept the Adam in Betty's dream as another aspect of the same desirer, I think we at least get a sense of what her other choice might have been, even if we cannot really imagine her making it (that's predestination my friend!)--to wit: Adam could have walked away from "his" film... he did not have to capitulate to the cowboy's (fate's?/biology's) demand... he could have chosen not to report back to the studio at all, and damn the consequences... or he could have chosen to follow Betty out of the audition room, instead of playing his assigned role (in effect, he plays Judas to his own Jesus, by betraying himself to the authorities through the instrumentality of a seemingly superfluous act of "identification")... if he had chosen disobedience, the result would have been an entirely different film!
but he doesn't (he agrees to make a film with a leading lady that has been chosen for him). and betty doesn't (her love burns Rita to the socket). and diane doesn't (she makes a final attempt to bind the fiber of her desire with Camilla's nebulous substance in the dual noose of an assassination cliche).
they all follow the injunction to substitute "the girl" for an unscripted life (a life which is unimaginable and yet, somehow, perversley possible--and without that possibility, there is no tragedy)
and so--I reiterate!--Betty's impossible confession of love TO Rita is just as much a suicide as the one that follows Diane's conspiracy to murder Camilla... "something bad is [, indeed,] happening", and it is all intensely felt, but no one aspect of the tragedy is any more real than any other aspect!
(yikes! I'll bet there are some typos in here!)
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Charles Reece:
Oh, Dave, you make my secular brain hurt with these religious references! I find that an odd sounding interpretation of a theological determinist, but the hell if I'm going to spend any time reading Calvin to test it out one way or the other. Anyway, I think you miss some possibilities living way over their on your egopole. A little bit of Davidson on schemata applied to the subject/object "divide": you have to be in a place of privilege to say one way or the other whether or not they can be bridged and that -- like arguments for the prime mover -- is going to involve you in an infinite regress. You're committing the same sin as the most rabid, old school correspondence theorist of truth by suggesting that we can't (how do you know?). So, you can either assume we can or we can't with equal authority if you want to play skeptical. I'd say you're left with pragmatism, and it's not very pragmatic to assume conversation is impossible. In fact, anyone who writes one word surely doesn't seriously hold that. And there are some good psychological reasons for thinking conversation is possible (e.g., when listing attributes to a word's meaning, subjects' listings tend to collect within certain conceptual dimensions, i.e., "family resemblances"). Now, this doesn't solve any sort of noumenal problems that philosophers might dream up, but it does suggest that, as a human community (I'd say biologically informed, as well, and there's some good evidence for this, too), we're able to live within a world that doesn't need to connect up to an Absolute for us to have some objective ground for communicating (more or less), that is, we don't have to know the Absolute to "empathize" (to use the term as loosely as possible). We deal with the given (however metaphysically ineffable) as best we can. I think the work of Lynch emblematizes this condition: real understanding comes out of the way his characters form real bonds, based on how they grapple with the unknowable, not out of recognizing that empathy is metaphysically impossible, or fundamentally unknowable. That's why Dale Cooper is the Lynchian hero par excellence: he looks at what's given, and works within the parameters of what's possible. That means giving in/being open when he doesn't have control over all the consequences. A subjectivist believes not only that you can justifiably ask any question, but that you can justifiably give any answer (subjectivism is a relativism, but not all relativisms are subjective). I don't think there's much evidence for that sort of radical indeterminism within MH or any of Lynch's films. The most tragic figures are the one's trying to control the consequences (Diane in her dream as Betty, parallel to her life as Diane, Bill Pullman in LOST HIGHWAY). Subjectivistic wish fulfillment leads to misery. Rational openness to the objective is what brings contentment (of course, the objective in Lynch's diegeses is a tad bit off from ours, but the message translates). So, it's not Diane's decision to kill Camilla per se that I'm focusing on, it's her attempt to control what she can't control whence the tragedy derives. She has no control over Adam in reality | 
