Plot summary- An amnesiac woman breaks into the house of an overly happy Naomi Watts after a car crash. The two end up helping each other and get off at one point. Theres a cowboy, a film director and an abandoned house at one point as well. Why is it confusing? Released in 2001, this David Lynch-penned, brain-mangling masterpiece protected its directors position as the lord of weird cinema. Like Synecdoche, Mulholland proves that art can be enjoyable without having an objective authorial purpose. I reckon I know what happened, but I reckon a hell of a lot of other people reckon they know what happened as well. To be honest, unless one feels the need to really clutch at the proverbial straw, no interpretation could possibly account for each layer in this dense trifle of a film. There are a lot of similarities between the work of Lynch and the Irish playwright Samuel Beckett; the grim settings, the convoluted dialogue and the presentation of defamiliarised universes that only a late-stage heroin addict could relate to, but Mulholland Drives brilliance lies in its ability to never stray into the territory of Art for Arts sake, a definite risk for such a surrealist film.