Dara K. Marzipan’s review published on Letterboxd:
I don't know what to feel, do, or say. I watched Mulholland Drive for the first time tonight. I need to rethink my existence, because the things I've loved up to this point are starting to feel weightless and invisible. David Lynch reaches into the part of me that dreams and just... does things. Sexual things. Nightmare things. Rage, mirror, illusion things. His two fingers stirring deep in the stem of my meaning-maker. Who am I when I'm not dreaming the dream of this film? Who am I when I am? What have I been doing with my self, my dreams, my two hands that can create anything? I feel awakened from reality into the truth of an endless dream. Holy fucking shit.