Man 2 quickly stands up from the table and moves over to the counter to pay the bill. Man 1 swivels with the camera to see this and we realise that reality is starting to mirror the nightmare as Man 2 is now stood exactly where he was said to have stood in the dream. And as the two men walk out of the diner, around the side, and to the back, Lynch’s camera lingers on certain elements — the telephone, the entrance sign — and we know this is because Man 1 is recognising this exact walk from his dream. Man 1 is sweating, and the tension is amplified by the fact that we know that this dream is a nightmare, and if reality mirrors such a nightmare, something nasty could be lurking around the corner. The camera cuts between the approaching man and the negative space next to the corner of the wall. And just as the tension reaches a boiling point and can hold no longer, a horrifying and disheveled creature-like woman appears from behind the wall and occupies this negative space. The sound reaches a climax, before being dulled out as Man 1 faints and the woman disappears. The scene ends here.

Many claim this to be the greatest jump-scare in cinema history. One that earns its climactic pay-off through a slow build-up of tension, as well as one that manages to frighten and shock the viewer with a scene set in the broad daylight of the city, rather than in the darkness of a haunted house or a forest. And though one of Lynch’s main intentions with this scene is to do just that — scare you — there is a lot more to it than that. The scene appears almost unrelated and random in the scheme of things, yet Lynch, a proven master of the short cinematic form, aims to establish a number of thematic conceits and ideas with this scene that easily works as a standalone piece of short cinema.

As this scene is where the film slows down and takes somewhat of a short detour, we can perhaps regard it as Lynch’s “Eye of the Duck” scene. It’s hard to tell considering the sheer amount of evocatively surreal and memorable scenes that feature in the film, but the case can certainly be made for this one.

Lynch believes that every film has an eye of the duck scene, not just his own. This is to say that all films have a particular scene that is its “jewel” — the best scene embedded within the heart of the film. Lynch uses the metaphor of a duck because he believes it is “one of the most beautiful animals”, and its natural construction can teach us lessons about abstract paintings, and in turn surrealistic cinema.

“If you study a duck, you’ll see certain things: the bill is a certain texture and a certain length; the head is a certain shape; the texture of the bill is very smooth and it has quite precise detail and reminds you somewhat of the legs (the legs are a little more rubbery). The body is big, softer, and the texture isn’t so detailed. The key to the whole duck is the eye and where it is placed. It’s like a little jewel. It’s so perfectly placed to show off a jewel — right in the middle of the head, next to this S-curve with the bill sitting out in front, but with enough distance so that the eye is very well secluded and set out. When you’re working on a film, a lot of times you can get the bill and the legs and the body and everything, but this eye of the duck is a certain scene, this jewel, that if it’s there, it’s absolutely beautiful. It’s just fantastic.”

The diner scene is arguably Lynch’s “eye of the duck” scene because it is placed right in the heart of the film, and seemingly not connected to the narrative of the film, thus it stands out amongst the chaos, in the same way that the eye of the duck stands out in the centre of its head. By doing this, Lynch is able to highlight in this scene his masterful and precise exploration of one of the film’s central conceits: dreams and reality.

“When you sleep, you don’t control your dream. I like to dive into a dream world that I’ve made, a world I chose and that I have complete control over.”

This scene serves as a reflection upon the very nature of film itself. Lynch often likes to remind us that we are watching a film, that he is the director and he is constantly toying with us. The subconscious is his tool. Man 1 explains he is “so scared like I can’t tell ya”, just like the audience. Lynch is a masterful director in the way that he uses subtle cinematic techniques in order to create a feeling of dread and uneasiness. Whilst watching Mulholland Drive, and particularly in this scene, the audience may feel these emotions, yet not be able to pinpoint exactly why — and this is Lynch’s intention.