Image by Anna Magenta, via Unsplash.
by Jasmine Long
In fact she once blamed me
Kyprogenia1
because I prayed
this word:
I want (Sappho 41)
Love has no rules. It is malleable, falling into the hands of those who choose to shape it, and defined only between the lover and the beloved. And yet, there is an archetype of what love is supposed to be: Adam and Eve, Romeo and Juliet, Orpheus and Eurydice. In other words, man and woman. This standard of heteronormativity is therefore ingrained into the societal perception of love, often undermining the validity of queer relationships. When taken in combination with the often misogynistic depiction of women in media, the lesbian becomes a tragic figure, forever destined to fail. Released in 2001, David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive presents the main characters, Diane and Camilla, through this tragic lens, defining them through various stereotypical tropes. The Hollywood industry then becomes a catalyst for their attraction while simultaneously acting as a distorting lens to their relationship, warping their love into an unhealthy jealousy. This inevitably leads to a delusional and harmful obsession, confining the girls to an ill-fated end. Love in Mulholland Drive is a self-fulfilling prophecy; David Lynch adheres to the heteropatriarchial power structures depicted within traditional sapphic media, ultimately reinforcing the problematic archetype of the tragic lesbian.
Sapphic relationships have always existed, transcending boundaries of time and culture, carving their own place in a world that condemns femininity; and yet, despite the powerful narrative potential of sapphic love, those involved are constantly diminished to mere figures of tragedy in various forms of media. This is largely due to the deeply instilled belief that women must naturally seek male identification and validation, “plac[ing] men above women […] in credibility, status, and importance in most situations, regardless of the comparative quality the women may bring to the situation” (MacKinnon qtd. in Rich 25). This patriarchal orbit unconsciously becomes the basis of traditional heterosexual relationships, causing a societal misperception that men are necessary to women’s lives. As such, women living separate from men—whether that be through homosexuality, asexuality, living as a widow, or even simply choosing to remain single—are often categorized as “deviant” (Rich 14). This patriarchal standard subsequently creates an intrinsic expectation of heterosexuality, which becomes particularly evident within sapphic media, where the validity of such relationships are ultimately challenged. As sapphic relationships are not traditionally perceived as ones that last, most end in either a dramatic sacrifice to justify their love or an eventual conformity to heteronormative standards. This trope is especially prominent in sapphic media, subconsciously reflecting a societal expectation of heterosexual relationships as the standard. More recently, this form of media has been categorized as its own subgenre of “doomed yuri”. While this term initially stems from Japanese anime and manga, it is now often colloquially used to refer to various forms of tragic sapphic media regardless of nationality. One of the earliest works of this genre, Yamagishi Ryoko’s “Shiroi Heya no Futari” acts as a prototype of “doomed yuri” today, depicting a tragic romance between Simone and Recine: the story ultimately ends with Simone getting stabbed by her ex-boyfriend, leaving Recine to forever mourn her, undergoing her own metaphorical suicide (Yukari 26-27). Over the following years, many similar narratives have taken inspiration from the tropes and stereotypes used within this manga, and its effects remain prevalent in most sapphic media today.
Mulholland Drive, despite its decision to portray queer identities, is evidently not particularly interested in challenging these tropes; rather, it establishes elements of its narrative on preexisting stereotypes within lesbian media. One of the most evident tropes comes from the previously discussed influence of “Shiroi Heya no Futari”: the archetype of the “Crimson Rose” and the “Candy Girl” (Yukari 32). The Crimson Rose is typically depicted as a cool, more mature beauty. She embodies a character of confidence and competence, and is often portrayed in much darker, bolder colours, such as black or red. Meanwhile, the Candy Girl is depicted as more youthful and naive, portrayed in much lighter colours like yellow or pink. In Mulholland Drive, Camilla2 takes on the role of the Crimson Rose, and Betty takes on the role of the Candy Girl. Camilla is often depicted with dark hair, smoky eye makeup, and a dark lip colour. She is usually dressed in an elegant black and red, portraying an image of wealth and power. Meanwhile, Betty is often characterized by her short blonde hair and natural makeup. She is typically dressed in lighter colours of pink, blue, and white, through which she crafts an image of soft innocence. Her light makeup is barely noticeable, and could easily pass for an illusion that she isn’t wearing any at all, presenting an image of vulnerability and authenticity. Yet upon closer inspection, her eyebrows are filled in and shaped, her eyelashes are curled and darkened, and her lips are glossed over with pink that is too even to be natural. However, while Camilla is able to maintain her role as the Crimson Rose in either identity, Diane is only able to maintain the image of the Candy Girl’s innocence as Betty.
(Lynch)
Near the end of the movie, Diane’s outfits, despite still consisting of primarily lighter colours, are much less proper and put-together than they had been when portrayed as Betty. She appears to be much more dishevelled: her hair is unstyled, makeup fully gone, and nails unpainted. Her initial expression of optimism is now replaced with a tired resentment. Despite the idealized glamour of Hollywood as “the Dream Factory” (Love 121), Love defines it as “an industry that passes off clichés as dreams” (Ibid), creating an internalized expectation and even hope of adhering to many of the harmful clichés and tropes presented in film. As such, the prevalence of the Crimson Rose and Candy Girl trope in sapphic media becomes internalized as this “dream” (Love 121) and thus applied to the real relationship; with Diane’s role within this trope gone, she is no longer able to maintain the illusory act she subconsciously believes is required for Camilla to love her. In drawing on these preexisting tropes, it becomes evident that “Lynch is not interested in challenging lesbian cliches; instead, he works almost exclusively through such cliches, exploring both the sweeping vistas and the back alleys of this stereotyped world” (Love 121).
Hollywood reframes problematic clichés as “dreams” (Love 121) as a means of facilitating the sexualization and exploitation of women for a male audience. Lynch accentuates the hidden aspects of the industry through tables of old men discussing young women, revealing its creepy and borderline pedophilic nature. It becomes clear that while talent is important, industry approval is prioritized, and in the competitive nature of acting, actresses are reduced to what they can offer the directors. Rich observes that the
“sexualization of women” is part of the job. Central and intrinsic to the economic realities of women’s lives is the requirement that women will “market sexual attractiveness to men, who tend to hold the economic power and position to enforce their predilections.” (MacKinnon qtd. in Rich 21)
In Betty and Rita’s first conversation, Betty makes the distinction that “[she’d] rather be known as a great actress than a movie star” (Lynch), acknowledging the incongruity between talent and fame. Regardless of how talented an actress may be, the “market[ing of their own] sexual attractiveness to men” (MacKinnon qtd. in Rich 21) is ultimately what defines the actress’s level of fame. In her audition, Betty is given a scene to perform with Jimmy Katz, an older actor who “wants to play this one nice and close” like he had done with a different actress who “felt kinda good” (Lynch). In doing so, the audience is reminded of the discomfort established by the patriarchal nature of Hollywood: young women may be the face of the industry, but it is ultimately controlled by old men. Jimmy pulls Betty against him, following the scripted scene of intimate tension between the man and a likely underage girl who still lives with her parents. Yet despite the uncomfortable implications of this scene, Betty is quick to adapt to this situation, showing no real discomfort in her role. For her, it is merely a role she must fulfill in order to achieve her dream. For all actresses, Hollywood becomes a self-imposed prison, encouraging the problematic power dynamics that allow for the normalized exploitation of young women.
Within this highly exploitative yet competitive industry, women are consistently pit against each other, encouraging a level of resentment as they devote themselves entirely for a director’s approval; as such, any possibility of pure love between the two women is inevitably distorted. It is undeniable that Diane loves Camilla, yet this love is warped into bitter jealousy as Diane is forced to watch Camilla live her dream. This jealousy manifests in her first introduction within her psychosis: as she steps out of the airport, she is dressed in a bedazzled pink cardigan. This parallels the fantasy version of Camilla Rhodes during her audition for Adam Kesher’s film. This version of Camilla, like Betty, is blonde, and dressed in a sparkling pink bejewelled top; this is who Betty wants to be. Meanwhile Rita’s dark hair parallels the woman auditioning before her—the woman that Adam actually wants to choose. However, even in these little fragments of reality within Diane’s fantasy, she creates an unfortunate paradox in which Adam—who simultaneously acts as the real Camilla’s lover as well as a representative of the Hollywood industry and its directors—will always choose Camilla. On the surface, he literally chooses Camilla over the previous woman who had auditioned for the part. However, had he not been forced to choose her, it is strongly implied that he would have actually picked the brunette, who is representative of the real Camilla, over the fake one that parallels Diane. Meanwhile, in Betty’s own audition for Bob Brooker, she is dressed in a light gray-blue top, drawing a separate parallel to the call girl that had been talking to the hitman; this is much more representative of who she truly is.
(Lynch)
Fundamentally, the call girl and the movie star are very similar facets of the same exploitative industry. In both cases, the girls are reduced to mere “objects in male transactions” (Rich 18), fighting for popularity and industry approval through a sexualization and exploitation of the self. In both cases, women ultimately objectify themselves in competitive yet harmful attempts at marketing themselves for the male gaze, leaving no room for the female voice in love or anything else.
The facilitated jealousy of the Hollywood industry ultimately shatters the illusion of love between the two girls, leading to a desperate, deleterious obsession that fulfills the usual trademark catastrophe of lesbian media. Driven by an overwhelming sense of grief and guilt, Diane enters a state of psychosis, constructing an illusory manifestation of her (now warped) love. Even in her psychosis, their love is defined by a twisted obsession and struggle for power. In reality, Camilla had frequently helped Diane with getting minor roles in the films that she stars in, establishing their relationship on a basis of unhealthy overdependence, while simultaneously associating Camilla with the Hollywood ideal. Therefore Camilla, while being the subject of Diane’s love, is also Diane’s only connection to possibly achieving her dream as a movie star, placing Camilla in a position of power over Diane. However, in her psychosis, Diane creates a reversal of roles and, with it, a reversal of power. She assumes that if she can be the one to help Camilla rather than the other way around, then her love must similarly be returned. In Betty and Rita’s first meeting, Betty is moving into her Aunt Ruth’s house, only to find Rita naked in the shower, immediately establishing an inversion of power as compared to reality. Rita’s body, however, is distorted behind the translucent glass. This warped nudity acts as a form of “soft-core pornography [that] depict[s] women as objects of sexual appetite devoid of emotional context or individual personality” (Rich 20). Especially at this point in the movie, the audience is especially clueless about Rita’s character, uninformed of even her name. The audience is essentially ignorant of any “emotional context[, and] individual personality” (Rich 20) that may justify the inclusion of this scene if not for appealing to the male fantasy. Furthermore, the inherently misogynistic expectation for modesty and chastity creates an implicit vulnerability surrounding the idea of nudity. Therefore Rita, naked and amnesiac, is put into this role of mental and physical vulnerability as well as dependency, creating a necessity for her to trust the other woman despite never having met her before. On the other hand, Betty is fully dressed when first meeting Rita, assuming a position of generosity and kindness that comes with an implicit superiority. She provides Rita with a place to stay, and offers to help recover her memories. In doing so, the audience becomes so focused on this discovery of who Rita really is—figuatively undressing the mystery surrounding her—that no one bothers to question who Betty really is. Her pre-established identity lulls the audience into a false sense of security through the illusion of certainty, ultimately creating an unhealthy reversal of power and dependence.
Consequently, this ephemeral reversal of power becomes unstable, brimming with inconsistencies in a desperate and futile attempt to avoid their inevitable fate. On the final night of Diane’s delusion, Betty is lying in bed, fully clothed, and telling Rita, who is wrapped in only a towel, to “get in and get a good night’s sleep” (Lynch). Rita walks over to the side of the bed and unties her towel, letting it drop to the floor before joining Betty in bed. Rita is once again fully exposed and vulnerable before Betty, reestablishing that initial shift in power. This time, however, her body is fully visible, reinforcing the misogynistic idea that women’s bodies are mere vehicles for sex and are otherwise extraneous (and therefore do not need to be fully visible, as warped by the glass of the shower). Rich further asserts that this “so-called lesbian pornography, created for the male voyeuristic eye, is equally devoid of emotional context or individual personality” (Rich 20). This scene is a rather shocking moment in the movie, with very little leading up to it, further emphasizing the inconsistencies of Diane’s psychosis. Therefore, despite the audience now being familiar with the characters, the scene itself remains “equally devoid of emotional context” (Rich 20). In this moment, Betty pauses to ask Rita if “[she had] ever done this before?” (Lynch), crafting an image of “faux-naive[ty]” (Love 127). This question ultimately goes unanswered, leaving a possible suggestion of purity for the male audience. When Rita returns to question to Betty, she simply responds that “[she] want[s] to with [Rita]” (Lynch), avoiding the question in an implicit insistence that “what [they] have done and who [they] are does not count for much—what matters instead is what [they] are about to do, what [they] want to do” (Love 127). In other words, she suggests a possibility of a future together. Betty ultimately declares that “[she is] in love with [Rita]” (Lynch), only to be met by a lack of verbal response. Diane’s delusion places her in a position in which she holds power over Camilla, and yet, she recognizes the fragility and futility of that power. She may be able to help Camilla in her most vulnerable states, but her subconscious insecurities recognize that it does not guarantee her any real promise of love—the one thing she truly desires.
The illusion of sapphic happiness is ultimately destined to fail, fulfilling the prophetic structure of the genre. In Mulholland Drive, Camilla ultimately chooses Adam over Diane, indirectly establishing an imagined superiority of Adam and, therefore, heterosexuality. This is the choice that would allow Camilla the most freedom in her Hollywood career, conforming to the pressures of the industry. On the car ride over to Adam’s house, Diane is stopped and led through the back forest as a “shortcut” (Lynch). In this shot, Camilla descends from a deceptively warm green, as though she is this figure of gentle divinity. The soft, swelling music creates an illusion of hope before fading under the jazzier music of Adam’s welcome, effectively shattering the illusion. In descending from the same path Camilla had led Diane through, it is implied that Camilla had come from Adam’s house, and therefore arrived there long before Diane had. The position of Adam, waiting on the top of the hill, directly juxtaposes Diane on the bottom, who needed Camilla to literally descend from atop Adam’s hill to bring her up. Furthermore, it is expected that the taxi would have brought Diane directly to the front door of Adam’s house. Despite the forest path being referred to as a “shortcut” (Lynch), the taxi had already been on the way and would have reached the door in a matter of minutes, making it much easier for both women. Therefore, in deliberately intercepting the taxi to bring her up the back, an implicit level of embarrassment is created, suggesting that Camilla is—to an extent—ashamed of Diane being seen walking through the front door of her engagement party. As they reach the top of the hill, Adam comes out to greet them, bringing both women a glass of wine, whispering an intimate toast: “here’s to love” (Lynch). His soft voice is directed only at Camilla, as though Diane had not been there at all. Diane’s own weak echo of the toast comes after, but while Adam had only looked at Camilla, Diane looks between the two. In the perception of heterosexual relationships as a standard, there is a sense of confidence in Adam’s toast, knowing that Camilla will undoubtedly choose him. Meanwhile, when Diane says it, she must consider their love prior to her own, helpless as the validity of sapphic relationships are once again undermined. Camilla, as a representation of the Hollywood ideal, will always choose Adam. No matter how much Diane may have loved Camilla, the conditions of their relationship prevent any possibility of true reciprocation.
The shattered fragments of the illusion ultimately pierces the heart of the lover. Following the previously introduced trope of the Crimson Rose and Candy Girl, Yukari observes that “whatever the events, it seems that the Rose[, and often the Candy Girl as a result,] is fated to die in every story” (Yukari 33), especially emphasizing “the specter of suicide” (Yukari 33). The shattered illusion does not simply transport Diane back into reality, but also further fragments her perception of it, fundamentally destroying any remaining chance at life. The old couple who had walked out of the airport with her introduced her to her illusory delusion, and now they are the ones who will take her out, chasing her to the point of suicide, and ultimately generating the only possible end to sapphic love.
In David Lynch’s movie, Mulholland Drive, the representation of sapphic love is an echo chamber of the same tragic tropes, fulfilling the prophecy of male-centrism. The standard of patriarchal power ultimately creates an affirmation of the heteronormative one, diminishing the validity of sapphic relationships through a constant depiction of sapphic media as “doomed”. Lynch draws inspiration from the classic trope of the Crimson Rose and Candy Girl in his characterization of the characters in Mulholland Drive. These clichés are then “passe[d] off […] as dreams” (Love 121) through the sexualization and exploitation of women, facilitating relationships based on competitive toxicity, thus proving any genuine relationship between the two women to be impossible. Mulholland Drive ultimately tells the tale of a desperate love between two women, yet it can never be a love story.
Works Cited
Love, Heather K. “Spectacular Failure: The Figure of the Lesbian in ‘Mulholland Drive.’” New Literary History, vol. 35, no. 1, 2004, pp. 117–32. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20057824.
Lynch, David, director. Mulholland Drive. Universal Pictures, 2001. Kanopy, https://www.kanopy.com/en/ubc/watch/video/11737674.
MacKinnon, Catherine A., Sexual Harassment of Working Women: A Case of Sex Discrimination. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1979
Rich, Adrienne Cecile. “Compulsory Heterosexuality and the Lesbian Experience (1980)”. Journal of Women’s History, vol. 15, no. 3, Autumn 2003, pp.11-48. The John Hopkins University Press, 2003.
Sappho. If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho. Translated by Anne Carson. Virago, 2003.
Yukari, Fujimoto and Lucy Fraser. “Where Is My Place in the World?: Early Shōjo Manga Portrayals of Lesbianism.” Mechademia, vol. 9, 2014, p. 25-42. Project MUSE, https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/mec.2014.0007.