Ariel and Caliban Relationship

At the beginning of the Tempest, Prospero finds two other inhabitants on the island, Caliban and Ariel. Ariel is portrayed as a mythical being coming from the heavens; he acts upon explanation and motive, being connected with God. Caliban, on the other hand, represents a creature descending the devil. He acts upon instinct, and is a creature of the wild. Both of them desire freedom, but Caliban is the one who is enslaved by Prospero.Prospero, being the Duke of Milan, also controls Ariel in order to help him succeed in his study of magic. This magic keeps Caliban subjugated under Prospero’s control. It seems simple to understand the relationship between the three- Prospero has two servants and their names are Caliban and Ariel. But really, Caliban seems enslaved while Ariel seems more as an â€Å"indentured servant. † Why should Prospero favor Ariel more than Caliban?They both contribute to the same amount of work and both are under Prospero’s control. It is obvio us throughout the play that Prospero enjoys the company of Ariel more than Caliban, as Caliban tries to kill him and Ariel is a peaceful kind spirit. But looking through the postcolonial lens, it seems as if Caliban deserves nothing less than Ariel, as he has as much knowledge and leadership as Prospero. Throughout the whole play, Prospero uses harsh language upon Caliban, and vise versa.This shows that Caliban once had love for Prospero, but is now angry with Prospero for taking his island. While Caliban is ordered to fetch wood and make fire, Ariel is given more important tasks, as Prospero depends on her. Caliban is usually reluctant to complete the orders of Prospero, while Ariel is willing to help his master. Simply, Prospero is the master of two beings: one being good, and the other being bad. Ultimately, the relationship between Ariel and Prospero completely juxtaposes between that of Caliban and Prospero.

Thorn Queen Chapter Seven

There were five of them, to be precise, each standing about seven feet tall. Their skin reminded me of a salamander's, smooth with a slightly moist appearance. It was mottled red and black, like marble. They had fangs like saber-toothed tigers, and flames glowed in the hollows of their eyes. â€Å"Fire demons,† I amended. Not that the type mattered too much. I'd fought other creatures from the Underworld, but full-fledged demons? Those were bad. The type was irrelevant. These guys made last night's fight with Rocky Raccoon seem like a warm-up stretch. Immediately, those bandits that weren't actively engaged with us began retreating behind the demons. Those we were fighting struggled to break away, knowing the demons would cover them. One of my men bravely charged a demon. The demon put its hands together, and a huge orb of fire appeared. The demon then threw it at the guy, instantly turning him into a screaming, living torch. â€Å"Shit!† I yelled. Without even thinking, I pulled all the moisture from the air and hurled it toward the guard. Water materialized around him, drenching him in a tidal wave. It turned the rest of the air oppressively dry, and a few trees withered and collapsed. I'd sucked out their water to make the wave as well. Nonetheless, the flames dissipated, and the guy dropped into wet, smoldering unconsciousness. At least, I hoped he was unconscious and not dead. My guards attacked in groups and fared a little better that way, able to distract the demons' attention. Volusian fought well too, but it was quickly becoming apparent that this was not going to end well for us. Picking the demon who appeared to be putting up the best fight, I took out my wand and focused my energy. I sent my will out toward the demon, grabbing hold of him with my mind and letting my senses spread beyond me and this world. The black and white butterfly tattoo on my arm began to burn. It was the symbol of Persephone, goddess of the Underworld, and I used its power to open the gates to that domain. Down the slope, the demon suddenly looked in my direction, sensing the binding wrap around it. He was powerful, and banishing him from this world into the next was taking more of my strength and power than I expected. Ignoring the attacking guards, he hurled a huge ball of fire at me. Immediately, I dropped my connection to the Underworld and pulled as much water as I could to me. Aside from my companions-whom I was careful to avoid-only the vegetation provided a quick source of water. Plants and cacti crumpled and died in a wide arc around us, but it was what I needed. A wall of water appeared before me, blocking the fireball. â€Å"Damn it, Eugenie,† cried Kiyo. â€Å"You can't keep doing that.† â€Å"I can banish them,† I said. â€Å"Just distract them.† Kiyo grimaced and then transformed into that â€Å"superfox† form, a huge beast of primordial strength and power, the Otherworldly ancestor of all foxes. He leapt on the demon who'd attacked me, and I once more attempted my binding. Volusian joined him. Between those two and the guards, the demon couldn't block me this time. Speaking words of banishment, I pushed him out of this world and into the next, careful to keep myself from getting sucked in along the way. The demon exploded in sparks that quickly dimmed and disappeared. I nearly fell over. The exertion to do that had been excruciating, and I was pretty sure I couldn't do it again. We had to get out of there and pray the demons didn't follow us. â€Å"Rurik,† I yelled, hoping the big warrior would hear me. â€Å"We need to retreat!† He gave a quick nod, eyes on the demon he attacked. Between magic and swords, his group was doing a good job of fighting it, but the battle was far from over. He barked out some orders. My group began falling back, fighting our way through the retreat. To my relief, two men picked up the guy who had been burned earlier and helped drag him out. Kiyo and Volusian stayed to cover our retreat, and I tried once again to banish a demon. No luck. So, relying on an old standby, I took out the Glock and began firing silver bullets. They hit the mark, weakening some of the demons and allowing our escape. When we'd reached a certain point, I saw that they were no longer following us. They were based around the camp, as I'd suspected. Demons like those had to be summoned, and they would stay close to their summoner. We eventually cleared the area and made it back to our horses. Not long afterward, Kiyo-still as a fox-and Volusian joined us. I glanced at Kiyo with a sigh, relieved he was okay and frustrated that it would be awhile now before he could become human again. I wanted to discuss this with him. Instead, I turned to Rurik as we rode away. â€Å"What the hell was that?† â€Å"Fire demons,† he replied. â€Å"I know that! What were they doing here?† â€Å"They were summoned.† He frowned. â€Å"Which is unexpected for ruffians like that. Someone who can wield that sort of magic would have no need to live that kind of life.† My adrenaline-charged heart rate had slowed down, allowing me to get a good look at our group now. We'd managed to cart off two prisoners-a few of the others had been freed by their friends in the demon chaos-which meant we could do some questioning later. For now, they weren't my chief concern. The guards were. Many of them were burned and wounded, though none as badly as the guy I'd saved. Some of the injured rode on their own; others required help. â€Å"They need healers,† I told Rurik anxiously. He was singed and cut but had emerged unscathed for the most part. It had taken almost an hour to get to the spot we had tethered the horses, and I didn't want the injured waiting that long. Rurik didn't answer right away. He annoyed me and wasn't as socially graceful as he could be, but he knew military matters and was a good strategist. At last he said, â€Å"If we veer west, we can be in Westoria in fifteen minutes.† â€Å"Westoria?† â€Å"The village we passed through yesterday.† â€Å"How is that-† I didn't finish the question. I would never understand how the Otherworld folded upon itself, how yesterday Westoria had been an hour and a half from the castle and now it was right around the corner. I also didn't understand how everyone but me seemed to always know what direction to go. Rurik assured me they'd have healers in the village, so I followed his lead. As soon as we turned, we found ourselves in the Rowan Land. Ten minutes later, we were back in the Thorn Land, and another five brought us to Westoria. â€Å"Un-fucking-believable,† I muttered. I really never would learn this land's layout. Only Kiyo the fox was close enough to hear my profanity, and I didn't know if he understood or not. Our approach was noticed just like before, and I paused before entering the village in order to say the words that would send Volusian away for now. I didn't want to terrify the townspeople more than I already did. Of course, when we'd left last time, their terror had been replaced by hope and faith. Today, once we told our tale, that optimism faded to disappointment and fear of a different kind-fear that their queen couldn't defend them. If they couldn't look to their wonderful new monarch for protection, what hope did they have? I tried to ignore those disillusioned faces as best I could. Otherwise, I thought I might snap back that fire demons were hardly an everyday occurrence for a king or queen. I doubted Dorian or Maiwenn would have done much better. Instead, I directed my attention to those who had fought for me and been injured for it. The burned man was still alive but in very bad shape. Davros, the mayor, assured me they had a healer who could bring the guard back to a stable condition. The healing took awhile, so I accepted Davros' invitation to sit and have a drink in his home once again. They'd already gotten my well up and working, and he seemed very pleased to be able to offer me water. â€Å"There were no girls there,† I told him. I sat in a plain wooden chair. Kiyo lay on the floor at my feet, his furry body pressed up to my leg. Davros snorted. â€Å"Of course not, your majesty. I told you that girl ran off. It's easier on her parents to believe otherwise. We certainly appreciate your, uh, efforts to clean out those villains, however.† I grimaced. â€Å"Yeah, well, the fire demons were kind of unexpected.† â€Å"There have been rumors for some time, your majesty, that there were some very strong fire users among them. It's part of what's made their raiding so problematic.† I widened my eyes. â€Å"Oh? That might have been useful information earlier.† He cowered at the tone in my voice. â€Å"Begging your pardon, your majesty. None of us could have imagined their power was that great.† I questioned him further on where the bandits might go now and if he'd heard any other stories about their magic users. If we faced these guys again, I didn't want any more surprises. We spoke until Rurik came to get me, telling me that most of the wounded were in traveling shape but that the severely injured man would stay behind for further recovery. There seemed no point in remaining after that, so we set out for the castle. The ride back wasn't too different from our last ride from Westoria. There was a dark mood over the group, and I was probably the worst. We'd set off counting on an easy victory and had more or less gotten our asses kicked. It was late when we finally arrived, the sun having set and cooled the weather to a comfortable eighty degrees. Time in Tucson tended to run a little later than here, which meant it was well into the night back home. So much for the date with Kiyo. That saddened me further, and I wandered out to a stretch of garden-by which I meant rocks and cacti-that extended beyond the castle. I settled down on a patch of grass that Shaya had been painstakingly trying to grow. As someone who controlled and spoke to plant life, I think this barren landscape killed her sometimes. I'd been sitting there and ruminating for about an hour when Kiyo joined me. His fox form had finally lifted. â€Å"Don't take it so hard,† he said, putting an arm around me and guessing what had me worried. â€Å"There was nothing you could have done differently.† â€Å"I suppose. I just feel bad now. Like, I still don't want this place. Not at all. But here it is, and then I feel horrible and guilty because even if I try, I can't do anything for it. I pushed the thinking off on Shaya, and then I failed at the fighting part-the one thing I can usually do. Argh.† I buried my face in my hands. â€Å"It's so confusing. I never wanted to deal with this.† Kiyo pulled me close, and I rested my head against his chest. â€Å"It's okay,† he said. â€Å"We'll get through this.† â€Å"We? You've got enough to worry about without this.† I was in one of those glum moods where everything seemed hopeless. How could he possibly have time for me with a new baby on the way? â€Å"We,† he said firmly. â€Å"And as much as I hate to say it†¦you just being here is going to help the land.† â€Å"How?† â€Å"It's tied to your life, right? You affect it, strengthen it just with your presence. It's why that meditation you do soothes it.† â€Å"Maybe. But I've been meditating for months, and there have still been droughts and famines.† â€Å"You're still helping it, whether you know it or not. Your thoughts, moods†¦it's all connected.† â€Å"Wonderful. It must be doing just great tonight then,† I muttered. In the moonlight, I saw him gesture around us. The sky was clear, and there was no breeze. There was a dry, stagnant feel to the air. It seemed unhealthy. Like you could feel the energy being sapped from everything. I sighed and lay back on the grass. â€Å"If I stay the night, will it help?† â€Å"Probably.† He lay beside me. â€Å"No Red Pepper Bistro then.† â€Å"Yeah. And I was so looking forward to their Salmonella Burrito Special. I guess there's always tomorrow.† â€Å"Mmm, well†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I turned toward him. â€Å"Oh, I don't like that.† â€Å"I promised Maiwenn†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He couldn't finish. â€Å"It's fine. I understand.† I did. I just didn't like it. Were we ever going to have some semblance of a normal dating life? â€Å"Oh, Eugenie.† Kiyo wrapped himself against me and brushed the hair from my face. â€Å"You're the only one. You know that, right? The only one I want in this world.† He paused. â€Å"Or any other world.† I laughed, but it was smothered when he pressed his lips to mine. There was almost never warm-up with Kiyo's passion. He always came on hungry and strong, and to my surprise, I always responded right away with equal intensity. I opened my mouth to his, feeling the thrust of his tongue and brush of his teeth against my lips. He slid a hand up my T-shirt, squeezing my breast through the thin lace of my bra. His other hand slid along my hip and down the back of my ass, shoving me closer to him, so that we were pressed hip to hip as we lay on our sides. My own hands were tangled in his hair, keeping our faces close as we kissed. Then, growing impatient, I reached down to the edge of his shirt and tugged it up over his head. It broke our kiss momentarily, but it was worth it to have the warm, wonderful skin of his chest exposed. I ran my hands over it, wanting to kiss every part of it, but he had other ideas and took off my shirt in return. I saw it land on a prickly pear when he tossed it away. His hands moved just as quickly to my jeans, and I leaned back, extending my legs straight out while he pulled them and my underwear off in one motion. I was grateful then for the grass beneath me that Shaya had grown. Gravelly sand would have been a bit harsh on bare skin. Nonetheless, he was the one I pushed down, forcing him to keep his back flat on the ground. Straddling him and still wearing my lace bra, I undid his belt and tugged his jeans and boxers halfway down, just enough to expose what I needed. I leaned over him, pressing us and our naked skin together, rubbing my hips provocatively without taking him into me. I kissed him as I did, and his hands reached around to unfasten my bra and remove the last of my clothing, leaving me completely naked. In that unforgiving heat, though, I barely noticed. He was hard underneath me, and I continued writhing my hips, taunting and teasing him more while I grew wetter. The lust in his eyes burned into me, laced with the remnants of the animal he'd been earlier. His hands were still all over my breasts, rubbing and squeezing them. Each touch sent shockwaves through my body. Occasionally, he'd draw me forward so that he could take one breast into his mouth, suckling and stroking the nipple with his tongue. As he did, I moved one of my own hands down between my thighs and began touching myself, wanting to reach my own climax before he took me-and I knew he would soon. I could see the desire and impatience all over him. Drawing sex out was not in his nature. I much preferred it when a man touched my clit-there was nothing like it in the world-but I had a feeling I'd have to literally take matters into my own hands with the way he looked tonight. Besides, I knew my body well enough to know I could get myself off pretty quickly. Not quickly enough. Kiyo's hands gripped my hips, sitting me up slightly and then roughly pulling my body down. I got my hand out of the way just as he shoved into me, penetrating with a strength I hadn't expected since I was the one on top. I tried to pull off, but his grip on me was firm as he began bucking his hips upward. â€Å"Too soon,† I said, even as my body reveled in the feel of his inside me. â€Å"Never too soon,† he growled back. I managed to shift myself away, and he slipped out of me. I grinned triumphantly, loving how I could prolong this and torment him. His erection was harder and bigger after being inside me, wet and slick from my body as my hand gripped him hard and began stroking back and forth. He groaned, arching his body up to reclaim what I'd taken away. He seized me again, this time rolling me over onto my back so that I'd now have to fight the full strength of him. â€Å"You are so sexy,† he gasped, lowering his body to mine. The rough ground scratched my skin. â€Å"All day, I just think about fucking you.† He thrust into me again, and I cried out so loudly, I wondered if someone from the castle would hear me and come running. If so, it probably wouldn't be a big deal to them. With nothing to hold him back, Kiyo gave me his full force, pumping into me and driving deeper and deeper with each thrust. I was still burning and wet from where I'd touched myself, and with each stroke, he managed to heighten that pleasure, driving me increasingly wild. The muscles in his body were strong and hard, working without rest as he moved furiously, his eyes burning into mine as he took me deeply and forcefully, letting the animal in him do what it wanted. I cried out again, exulting in the harshness mixed with ecstasy as I felt myself grow closer and closer to orgasm. I could see the clench of his jaw and tension within him as he tried to hold back. â€Å"God, I want to come†¦Ã¢â‚¬  he managed through labored breathing. â€Å"Want to come in you so badly†¦Ã¢â‚¬  He was waiting, trying to hold out for me to come first. I clenched my hands against his back, digging my nails into his skin. â€Å"Do it,† I hissed. â€Å"Come in me. Now†¦let me feel it†¦.† It was all he needed to tip him over. His mouth opened in something that was half-moan and half-roar. He still managed to keep moving in and out of me, but the movements were slower, more punctuated as he came and his body found release. At last, he shuddered and pulled out, only to then collapse on top of me. I wrapped my arms around him. Even without an orgasm, my body felt renewed and alive, burning with pleasure at the intensity of what we had just put our bodies through. He rested his head on my chest, and I continued holding him, neither of us saying a word. At some point, I drifted to sleep like that, only to be woken up about an hour later. It took me a moment to figure out what had happened, until I felt a wet drop hit my face. Then another. Then another. I squirmed and sat up, wiping water out of my eyes. â€Å"What's wrong?† murmured Kiyo drowsily, stirring slightly. I looked up into the sky, scattered with both stars and much-needed clouds. â€Å"It's raining.†

David Lynch as a Cult Auter

David Lynch as a Cult Auteur David Lynch has long been known for his abstract, surrealist, highly ambiguous, and often confusing films. Since his first film, the bizarre and depressing Eraserhead, Lynch has become synonymous with the word â€Å"baffled. † He has been responsible for heady acid trips such as Lost Highway, Mulholland Drive, and Inland Empire. He has created a bizarre examination of sex and violence in Blue Velvet and a quiet, emotional character study in The Elephant Man.Lynch has always been the artsy type; throughout high school, he was a keen painter, with a very abstract style, and after leaving school, he studied painting at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston in 1964. However, he left after only a year, stating that â€Å"I was not inspired AT ALL in that place†. He then proceeded to travel around Europe to study the works of Austrian expressionist painter Oskar Kokoschka. He returned to America, however, after only 15 days. He then studied Fine Arts at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia, before moving to Los Angeles in 1971 to study filmmaking at the AFI Conservatory.It was at this time that Lynch began winning grants in order to fund his films, including one for $10,000 which he received from AFI in 1970 to make his debut feature-length film, Eraserhead. Over his lengthy career, Lynch has been nominated for four Oscars, but has yet to win. Four of his films have been nominated for the Palme d’Or at the Cannes film festival; 1990? s Wild At Heart won the prestigious award, and Lynch also won Best Director at the festival for his 2001 film Mulholland Drive. Lynch, like many other burgeoning directors, started his audio visual career making short films.From 1966-1974, he created four of film history’s arguably most memorable shorts, leading up to his breakout, oft-critiqued feature, Eraserhead (1977). His style is defined by the dark, the grotesquely physical, and the straight out bizarre. Many of h is shorts included animation of his paintings. Sound and music for films was also of utmost importance to the paranoia-filled atmosphere of his works. The dark and the bizarre were aspects he would carry over to his television show, Twin Peaks, which aired for two seasons in 1990 and 1991.Lynch is valuable because he explodes conventions, both cinematic and psychological, but it’s not enough for him to be as strange as possible—even an approach based on throwing off the fetters of the conventional and the logical demands a kind of discipline. The trick is to allow one’s imagination free play, but to be able to recognize what is genuinely strange and unsettling, rather than merely bizarre, to distinguish between the rare specimens you’ve unearthed from the darkness of the ocean floor and the seaweed clinging to you when you emerge from the water.It’s a completely unscientific process, and one that can’t be forced, so in a sense it’s ac hievement enough that Lynch has remained devoted to exploring his own subconscious, however successful he’s been in conveying his findings to the screen. Leading film critics Le Blanc and Odell state that Lynch’s films â€Å"are so packed with motifs, recurrent characters, images, compositions and techniques that you could view his entire output as one large jigsaw puzzle of ideas. One of the key themes that they noted was the usage of dreams and dreamlike imagery within his works, something they related to the â€Å"surrealist ethos† of relying â€Å"on the subconscious to provide visual drive. † This can be seen in John Merrick’s dream of his mother in The Elephant Man, Agent Cooper’s dreams of the red room in Twin Peaks and the â€Å"dreamlike logic† of the narrative found in Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire. Another defining pattern of Lynch’s films is that he tends to feature his leading female actors in mul tiple or â€Å"split† roles, so that many of his female characters have multiple, fractured identities.This practice began with his choice to cast Sheryl Lee as both Laura Palmer and her cousin Maddy Ferguson in Twin Peaks and continued in his later works. In Lost Highway, Patricia Arquette plays the dual role of Renee Madison/Alice Wakefield, while in Mulholland Drive, Naomi Watts plays Diane Selwyn/Betty Elms and Laura Harring plays Camilla Rhodes/Rita and in Inland Empire, Laura Dern plays Nikki Grace/Susan Blue. By contrast, Lynch rarely creates multi-character roles for his male actors.In a short film titled â€Å"How to Make a David Lynch Film† a group of young film makers explored just that. In the short, the group highlight a number of definitive features found in Lynch’s films. They mention that â€Å"the people who like David Lynch do so because he is the master of mood, or because he’s all about atmosphere† and that â€Å"the ‘art sier’ the fan you speak to, the more they pretend to understand Lynch’s nonexistent plots. † Other Lynchian traits mentioned in the short include: * Unneeded tension brought about by dramatic pauses between dialogue * There must be ominous ounds or music in every scene to create a mysterious atmosphere * There must always be a character that goes by the name of Mr. , followed by a common first name (eg. Mr. Jimmy) * When in doubt, add close ups of eyes and lips * Phone calls to add suspense * Halfway through the film, change the actor/actress playing the lead character * In between scenes always fade in and out of black * There should be nudity for no apparent reason * Random shots of out of focus movement * Lots of kissing * Painted fingernails * Lesbian love scenes At least one sex scene, often overexposed * Infantilism (eg. Dennis Hopper as Frank Booth in Blue Velvet) * Use of black and white * Abrupt endings and loose ends Lynch is an established auteur; in f act, not only does he write his screenplays, but he has been involved with every level of his films production at one point or another: sound design, editing, camera work, lighting, casting, special effects, music, etc. His hands-on approach to every aspect of his films has helped to tie them all together with a common thread.Lynch has sufficient strength of identity within his work and peculiarity of world view to warrant his position as auteur, and David Foster Wallace, in his ‘Premiere' article for Lost Highway, said : â€Å"Whether you believe he's a good auteur or a bad one, his career makes it clear that he is indeed, in the literal Cahiers du Cinema sense, an auteur, willing to make the sorts of sacrifices for creative control that real auteurs have to make – choices that indicate either raging egotism or passionate dedication or a childlike desire to run the sandbox, or all three. As Orson Welles said, â€Å"Cinema is the work of a single man, the directorâ₠¬ . Lynch's films, good or bad, successful or not, have been the work of a film-maker in control of his medium, aware of his position as auteur and willing to assert it within his texts. Many of Lynch’s works have developed a cult following over the years. Of note are Eraserhead, Blue Velvet and Mulholland Drive.There are also many in the Lynchian â€Å"cult† who are not film specific. That is, they are fans and followers of David Lynch himself, and are intrigued by all things Lynchian. The major reason that Lynch’s films stand the test of time is due to their very nature; because his innovative style is so surreal and cryptic, a selection of viewers are compelled to delve further into understanding his films.That’s the beauty of Lynch; his films deeply intrigue his audiences, igniting a thirst in the niche, cult followers to decipher meaning in films where others see none. In most cases, a director cannot really foresee whether or not a film will develo p a cult following over time. However, a further urge to make sense of his works is almost inherent of Lynch’s style, and some may argue that Lynch has constructed his films with the intention of being labelled by society as ‘weird’, or ‘strange’.It almost gives his loyal followers an excuse to be self righteous of their involvement in the cult community; â€Å"Hey look at me, I study Lynchian films, aren’t I cultured? † It can give them a sense of intellectual snobbery. Lynch’s most recent feature, Mulholland Drive was initially scripted and filmed as a television pilot, however, the project was turned down by several networks, and so, after some deliberation, Lynch decided to finish the text as a feature film.As a pilot, the story didn’t have a proper ending, and it took Lynch quite some time to formulate an ending for the film; however he says that it all came to him one night when he sat down on a chair and closed his eyes. In Mulholland Drive, Lynch dwells upon the theme of duality of identity, set in the world of Hollywood. After the failure of both her movie career and her love affair, the main protagonist, Diane, imagines a fantasy of her as another character named Betty, by recreating her ruined career and failed relationship with the woman she loves.To further expand on his main themes of identity, fantasy and reality, duality of things and Hollywood, Lynch uses contrasted filming techniques for each of the parts of the movie, creating a visual dichotomy between Diane’s fantasy (where everything is embellished in a way, highly illuminated, colourful and visually striking) and reality (which is almost completely dark and uses very little lighting, making it seem quite surreal), thus blurring the edges between the two. In her fantasy, Diane loses her identity, as her dream presents another aspect of herself. One ight argue that this fantasy is actually Diane’s attempt at self-id entification, but it is also another representation of her own personality. In the end, Diane must understand that she is comprised of, and capable of, both light and dark, good and evil, naivete and deep mystery. Therefore, she cannot escape or ignore the darker parts of herself – her failure, her hatred, her jealousy. Lynch has explained duality in his films in this way: â€Å"You must have the contrasts. Films should have power. The power of good and the power of darkness, so you can get some thrills and shake things up a bit.If you back off from that stuff, you’re shooting right down into lukewarm junk. †¦You have to believe things so much that you make them honest†. In other words, he argues that in order for films to be strong and powerful, they need to present both sides of a coin, an unrestricted view of life with all of its light and all of its darkness. However, according to him, there is no need to fear the darker side because it is a part of all of us: â€Å"Fear is based on not seeing the whole thing and, if you could get there and see the whole thing, fear is out the window†.Hence he argues that once we come to terms with these darker things and accept them as a natural contrast in all of us, rather than try to hide and escape them, we will be able to face and understand them. In an interview with The Denver Post during the release of Mulholland Drive, Lynch says: â€Å"we know that when we're walking around we see the surface of things, but sometimes we sense something more, sometimes what we sense approaches a kind of dreamlike state.Those feelings take on a life of their own; they are just as real as anything else. † This echoes Breton’s lecture that these often dichotomous forces of inner and external reality â€Å"are the one and the same thing. † However, Lynch does make note that we do approach these various layers of reality in different ways: â€Å"We have waking, sleeping and dreami ng—for most people that's what we deal with. So all of them are real, though the brain functions in a different way for each. The final movement of Mulholland Drive asks its viewers to reinterpret the first 100 minutes of screen time as now being a universe fabricated in the consciousness of small-time, failed-actor Diane Selwyn, who lies dying (or dead) somewhere in a run-down apartment in Hollywood. Linking the narrative material of the film’s final movement to the material that preceded it becomes critical in terms of how one understands the workings of the film. Of course, crucial as it may be to connect narrative information to the film’s internal structures, it is not this alone that makes Mulholland Drive such a unique experience.As in much of Lynch’s other work, the film asks its viewers to attend to every aspect of its construction, from colour schemes to camera movement, from music and sound to performance, from lighting to editing patterns, fro m set design to costume and make-up. In short, every element of the film’s construction can be a container of possible meaning. Because of this, most viewers miss much of the film’s meaning, and walk out of the theatre complaining that it made no sense. Others, however, may pick up on certain symbols or motifs, and are intrigued to decipher their meaning after viewing.What’s especially interesting in Lynch’s films is the way the entire mise-en-scene is presented as meaningful and significant. The hierarchy of significance that we associate with most movies, where some things are to be attended to more than others, is abandoned. We can never tell while watching a scene – at least the first time around – what its most significant features are. It’s possible that a seemingly minor detail will turn out be of critical importance. Everything is presented on the same level of significance.Over the years, Mulholland Drive has developed a cult following in a niche audience, and many of its devout followers are continuously attempting to decipher elements of the film. The website mulholland-drive. net is an extensive database of information regarding the film, where the film’s loyal followers can discuss the film and share their understanding of certain elements of the movie. Since all of the posts on the site are by members of the niche audience, it gives everyone a chance to see what other people thought of the movie and their analysis of its meaning.The website epitomises the commitment of members of a films cult following. To conclude, it is fair to say that David Lynch has well established himself in society as a cult auteur to be reckoned with. His abstract style often leaves his viewers with more questions than answers, and for some viewers, a desire to learn more. It is this factor that has essentially led to Lynch’s grandiose cult status. His followers are intrigued by his ambiguity. Although his ti me as a director will inevitably come to an end, the legacy of his films will last forever through their cult status. ——————————————- [ 1 ]. Lynch and Rodley, 2005, p. 33 [ 2 ]. David Lynch. (2013, March 16). In  Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia [ 3 ]. Le Blanc and Odell, 2000, p. 08 [ 4 ]. Lynch and Rodley, 2005, p. 148 [ 5 ]. Cook, 1986 [ 6 ]. David Lynch On Mulholland Drive, DVD Extra [ 7 ]. Lynch and Rodley, 2005, p. 150 [ 8 ]. Lynch and Rodley, 2005, p. 244 [ 9 ]. â€Å"Lynch composes cerebral symphony†, Rosen, 2001 [ 10 ]. Breton, ed. Fotiade 2000, p. 04

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