Exploring David Lynch’s obsession with mimed performances
American director David Lynch has been creating work that confuses audiences for decades, yet his mastery in doing so has made him one of cinema’s most coveted filmmakers, boasting a dedicated cult following. His first feature, Eraserhead, came in 1977 and found popularity in the midnight movie circuit. Throughout the following decades, Lynch’s status as a true cinematic genius continued to grow with the release of incredible movies such as The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, and Mulholland Drive, as well as the popular television series Twin Peaks.
Bringing inconceivably creative ideas and unwavering dedication to every project, Lynch is unafraid to push cinematic boundaries, with every movie feeling intricately designed, as though Lynch’s mind has been transferred onto celluloid. His movies often contain reoccurring motifs and themes, such as curtains, troubled women and doppelgangers. Another common feature of Lynch’s movies is a mimed performance, with a character passionately lip-syncing to a pre-existing track.
Sometimes, these mimed performances are obvious from the start, such as Dean Stockwell’s “rendition” of Roy Orbison’s ‘In Dreams’ in Blue Velvet. Elsewhere, we are tricked by Lynch, like when Rebekah Del Rio performs a Spanish version of Orbison’s ‘Crying’ in Mulholland Drive, only to collapse mid-way through, all while her acapella take continues playing. But that’s not all. In Eraserhead, the Lady in the Radiator mimes the words to Peter Ivers’ ‘In Heaven’, Jack Cruz the monkey “sings” ‘The Flame of Love’ in What Did Jack Do?, and Melissa George gives a convincing mimed performance of ‘I’ve Told Ev’ry Little Star’ by Linda Scott in Mulholland Drive.
But why is Lynch so obsessed with mimed musical performances? The easiest answer is that they’re uncanny, and if Lynch’s oeuvre is anything, it’s uncanny and surreal. By incorporating these moments of artifice into his movies, he emphasises a betrayal of truth, creating an air of unreliability that forces the audience to question our loyalty and trust in the characters and the narrative. Can the audience even trust Lynch?
When Del Rio faints halfway through her emotionally charged performance, we are encouraged to question everything we see in the scene. Is Betty’s tearful reaction genuine? Are we witnessing a dream or reality? As it turns out, this scene acts as a cypher, suggesting that everything we’ve witnessed in Mulholland Drive thus far is not as real as we’ve been led to believe. This incendiary moment makes way for the movie’s chaotic final act, in which we discover that Betty and Rita are a figment of Diane’s imagination, merely an unsustainable fantasy teetering on the edge of collapse.
The entire movie changes when Del Rio hits the floor, and soon, we are introduced to the harsh realities of life – the bubble of the American dream is burst. The movie also explores the corruption of Hollywood – the ultimate symbol of the American dream – thus, it is fitting that Lynch includes another lip-syncing scene in which Camilla Rhodes performs ‘I’ve Told Ev’ry Little Star’. Only those familiar with the original song will be able to tell that the song is being mimed; Lynch fools the audience into believing that Camilla is the real deal.
As we later discover, the Rita we know from Diane’s fantasy is actually known as Camilla in the real world. Therefore, by showing an alternative version of Camilla pretending to sing the song, Lynch confronts us with explicit artifice and deception. Likewise, this scene emphasises Hollywood’s untrustworthiness and falsity – we cannot take anything we see at face value.
Stepping back 15 years to Blue Velvet, Dean Stockwell gives one of the movie’s standout sequences when he mimes along to ‘In Dreams’, shining a light onto his face to aid the theatricality of his performance. It’s one of Lynch’s most beguiling scenes, frequently cutting back to the face of Dennis Hopper’s evil Frank Booth, who finds the song too emotional to bear. The rest of the cast watches in admiration and curiosity as Stockwell’s character, who is keeping Dorothy’s husband and son hostage, gives his all to Orbison’s classic.
Matching the lyrics of the song, the scene feels dreamlike, especially due to the lighting, and the mimed aspect of the performance feeds into Lynch’s emphasis on fantasy. It’s an uncanny sequence, and for a moment, it seems that Stockwell’s Ben has what it takes to become a performer, not a criminal. In dreams, the characters could have much different lives. Instead, they are wrapped up in a nightmare that feels as utterly surreal and bizarre as this sequence.
Lynch knows exactly how to unsettle viewers, often adding elements of humour into the mix to make the tone of the movie all the more confusing. Through mimed performances, the director emphasises the artificial nature of cinema, dreams, and life in general. He uses these sequences to force the audience to watch actively and to question everything.
