“The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience being without it all these years.” — Miss Prism, The Importance of Being Earnest
Two days ago thanks to Jezebel I watched David Lynch’s newest work, which is a rapturous 16-minute ad for a blue Dior bag, starring Marion Cotillard and titled “Lady Blue Shanghai.” And, while I’m open to counterarguments, I find it hard to see the ad as much more than an uncomfortable, Mulholland Drive-plus-The Shining-by-way-of-Orientalism exercise in self-parody (albeit one that gives Marion Cotillard much more to do than Public Enemies did). For just this reason, though—because of just this ambivalence around the question of David Lynch’s earnestness—I’m starting to wonder if the film, as an ad both for a capacious leather bag and for David Lynch’s capabilities as an auteur, could be regarded more than any of the feature-length movies as the quintessential Lynchian text…
It seems way too easy (and off the mark) to accuse Lynch of hypocrisy by juxtaposing the ad with a pretty well-known YouTube clip in which he rails against product placement in film as “Bullshit. Total, fucking, bullshit,” considering that “Lady Blue Shanghai” (not unlike the “Telephone” video) plays like a massive self-conscious riff on the varieties of placement, replacement, and displacement that products both undergo and produce. But it’s also easy to be disturbed by the obvious similarity between this cubical blue handbag, mysteriously appearing in Cotillard’s hotel room with a puff of smoke and taking her through a melancholy fantasy of “the old Shanghai,” and Mulholland Drive‘s gorgeously fetishized blue box, which seems to act as a kind of hinge between the life of Betty Elms, the beautiful and successful Hollywood actress, and the life of Diane Selwyn, the wrecked, despairing murderer who, before or after killing herself, invents Betty Elms. Could it be that this ad, rather than merely echoing Mulholland Drive‘s imagery or representing the kind of thing Lynch always does, in fact concretely strengthens a useful way of reading the earlier movie? In which it’s possible to say that we know exactly what that blue box is—it’s a Dior bag?
And how easy would it be to separate the move being made here—we’re going to try selling you this bag, but obliquely, with a proper David Lynch narrative film, which can be appreciated in itself and on its own terms—from the strategies of obliqueness practiced throughout Lynch’s career? Of course there’s a whole world of Lynch criticism to draw from here, of which I don’t have much knowledge, but I’m thinking of a nicely, provocatively polemical passage on Wild at Heart and what it might be selling us, from Sharon Willis’s 1997 book High Contrast: Race and Gender in Contemporary Hollywood Film:
[…] Wild at Heart is aiming for an audience that might accept its strategies for neutralizing its own racist and sexist fantasies as ironic. To imagine that this film always knows the difference between representing racism and misogyny and enunciating them is to presume that we can establish a clear separation between the film’s point of view and the larger cultural discourses incorporated and represented within it. Part of Lynch’s appeal, then, may reside in his work’s attempt to parade the rhetoric of racism and sexism in a framework that allowed us to feel ironically distant, inoculated from these pathologies, as it were, as the films emphasized instead “fantasy,” “style,” and the “avant-garde.”
The “cool” associated with Lynch has to do with an appreciation of style and technique, but equally important it has to do with the ways that his apparently contingent figures become central to the production of “distinction” (in Bourdieu’s sense) for the audience.
Compare the funny things that Dodai at Jezebel has to say about, specifically, the length of the Dior ad, bringing us back to material conditions:
It’s a trick […] — because while it may be intriguing to see what kind of story Lynch has cooked up, what kind of heroine Marion is and how the bag and the city of Shanghai all fit together, in the end, you realize that you have willingly watched a sixteen-minute commercial. In an age of trigger-happy fast-forward fingers and DVR! It’s sixteen minutes you’ll never get back, and you could have used it to ask your boss for a raise, buy some stock or look into phone sex work — you’ll need some extra cash if you really want the ugly, shiny, awkwardly square patent leather bag, which retails for £1,360 ($2,009).
…Exactly. Maybe the real question here is, what kind of person gives 16 minutes, or even 32 minutes, to a commercial for a leather luxury item that they will never, ever buy? Whatever the answer is, I’m such a person. Maybe you are too!
Does that make us philosophers? I happened to watch “Lady Blue Shanghai” on the same day I read this post, which unpacks some of the implications of Simon Critchley’s inaugural column for a philosophy forum at the New York Times called “The Stone,” and in particular Critchley’s definition of the philosopher as “the person who has time or takes time.” And in some sense the stone and the bag do not seem very far apart.