The first time I saw David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive I wasn’t quite sure what to think—it had the ambiguity of Twin Peaks yet a duality of its own, leaving me with so many questions. What did the little blue box signify? What was with all the strangely arousing lesbian scenes? And why was Angel from Home and Away ostensibly the lead in the film?

The creepiest element was possibly the nightclub, Silencio, which was filled with a cornucopia of carnie folk and bizarre acts worthy of any Coney Island sideshow—something I had the (dis)pleasure of experiencing in person when I first visited New York’s Lower East Side’s The Box; a bizarre Amsterdam-sex-show-meets-Berlin-cabaret-club establishment where a minimum of US$10,000 would secure you the best table in the house within female ejaculating’s distance from the stage. My silk blazer has never recovered.

In September, Mr Lynch is set to open a real-life version of his den of inequity in Paris, located at 142, rue Montmartre in the 2nd arrondissement; essentially the worst location ever from which to be doing a walk of shame. It will house a cinema, a performance hall, an art gallery, a restaurant and a bar and will open from 6pm – 6am, which by Paris standards is an anomaly in itself.

Furniture is Lynch-designed—including a skull-shaped speaker system—and are the only images that have been released to date. There is no confirmation whether an existential crisis will be included in the experience. Only time will tell.

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