It all began on a popcorn-munching day, one cold winter night, when my mom and I tuned into watching David Lynch’s renowned piece of work, Mulholland Drive. (And on hindsight, clearly something that you don’t watch with your parents).
Mulholland Drive is outright ambiguous. It boasts of a convoluted plot that unfolds little by little over repeated watchings (that never seem to bore). I first got transfixed by it eight years back, and even as of today, the fascination with the wacky plot hasn’t dwindled the slightest.
Try Synecdoche New York.
Mulholland Drive is my favourite amongst these.