From Irony to Narrative Crisis: A Critical Analysis

Frida Beckman’s article, “From Irony to Narrative Crisis: Reconsidering the Femme Fatale in the Films of David Lynch” (2012), examines how a well-known film character changes over time. She explains that the femme fatale, who was once controlled by patriarchal rules in classic Hollywood, is transformed in Lynch’s films by non-linear storytelling and what Gilles Deleuze (1989) describes as the time-image. In Blue Velvet (1986), Lost Highway (1997), and Mulholland Drive (2001), Beckman suggests that the femme fatale is no longer just a mysterious figure to be revealed and punished, but instead gains new possibilities (Beckman, 2012, p. 27).

Beckman addresses persistent debates about feminist cinema while constructing her analytical framework. Critics, including Mary Ann Doane (1991) and E. Ann Kaplan (1998), argue that the femme fatale symbolises cinema's effort to contain female sexuality. However, Janey Place (1980) highlights its complex influence. ‘Lynch faces accusations of misogyny due to the violence he inflicts on female characters’ (Dixon, 1998), and yet Martha Nochimson (1997) considers his clichés to be impactful. This article rigorously evaluates Beckman's central question, his techniques, and his theoretical foundations, along with an assessment of the virtues, flaws, and opportunities for future exploration of his work.

Beckman (2012, p. 26) asks how Lynch’s complex narrative structures and representations of time transform the traditional image of the femme fatale. Beckman (2012, p. 28) contrasts Lynch’s fragmented narratives with the classical noir structure, where linear storytelling and causal logic confine the femme fatale within patriarchal control. Beckman argues that Lynch’s fragmented structure and use of time make the femme fatale more complex and harder to define (Beckman, 2012). This means that, while classic noir limits the character, Lynch’s films give her more room to develop. Characters like Dorothy Vallens in Blue Velvet and Rita in Mulholland Drive do not fit the usual patterns. Beckman calls this shift a move from irony to a crisis in the story itself (Beckman, 2012, p. 30).

Developing this argument, Beckman draws on feminist research defining the femme fatale as an epistemological issue historically. In the classical noir, the femme fatale represents a mystery to be explained and neutralized, as noted by Doane (1991). Place (1980) emphasizes her ambivalence as both strong and threatening within a patriarchal framework, as noted by Doane (1991). Although Beckman respects this legacy, she argues that Lynch's use of the time-image throws off the story devices that once limited the femme fatale. Lynch's women rebel against the final interpretation, unlike the classical model, where her sexuality always results in punishment. For Mulholland Drive, for instance, the fragmentation of characters into dual identities prevents the femme fatale from being anchored to a single meaning, leaving her story unresolved (Beckman, 2012, p. 36). This, she says, significantly alters the way female archetypes interact in movies.

There are significant reasons to challenge this more optimistic reading. Despite Lynch’s avoidance of straightforward resolution, his female characters are relentlessly subjected to suffering and violence or reduced to objects of fascination and dread. These patterns suggest an uneasy continuity: even as Beckman asserts a more progressive potential, established theoretical insights continue to expose entrenched patriarchal structures. Mulvey’s male gaze and Williams’s (1991) focus on the female body as spectacle both reveal the ongoing dominance of patriarchal perspectives. (Mulvey, 1975) Clover (1992) similarly points out that women in horror films, including Lynch’s, are often ultimately controlled or punished. (Clover, 1992) Kristeva’s (1982) concept of abjection illustrates how women in Lynch’s films, especially in Blue Velvet, remain sites of both disturbance and voyeuristic appeal (Horror and Boredom: Subjectivity, Abjection, and 'Blue Velvet,' 2021).

While Beckman positions narrative disruption as a potential site of transformation, the persistent sexualization and objectification of women in Lynch’s films complicate any straightforward notion of progress. The portrayal of Dorothy Vallens in Blue Velvet, for instance, remains anchored in a dynamic of allure and victimhood, underscoring the continued force of patriarchal perspectives. This tension indicates that formal innovation alone does not necessarily translate into substantive empowerment for female characters, whose representation remains marked by violence and objectification.

To support her thesis, Beckman (2012, p. 28) adopts a methodology rooted in close textual analysis of three Lynch films: Blue Velvet (1986), Lost Highway (1997), and Mulholland Drive (2001). This approach enables her to focus on narrative form, visual motifs, and shifting female identities, tracking how the femme fatale operates differently across each text. Her close readings foreground narrative and stylistic devices such as match cuts, diegetic sound cues, and fragmented visual sequences (Beckman, 2012, p. 28). For example, in Lost Highway, a match cut transitions from a domestic interior to an eerie desert landscape, thereby disorienting the viewer and conveying the fluidity of time central to Lynch's narrative structure. Similarly, the use of diegetic sound in Mulholland Drive, where a song abruptly shifts from diegetic to non-diegetic, alters the spectator's perception of reality and time, reinforcing Beckman's argument about the transformative potential of Lynch’s narrative structures.

By highlighting these elements, Beckman tests her claims about the transformative potential of Lynch’s narrative structures and their impact on representing the femme fatale. As Hayward (2006) explains, close analysis is a cornerstone of film studies, enabling scholars to link cinematic style with cultural meaning. Stam, Burgoyne, and Flitterman-Lewis (1992) similarly emphasize that textual work is inseparable from theory, as the meaning of film is produced through codes of narrative and spectatorship. Beckman’s methodology is conventional within film studies, but her innovation lies in combining it with a Deleuzian philosophical framework.

At the same time, Beckman grounds her work in feminist film criticism. She acknowledges the influential accounts of Doane (1991), who frames the femme fatale as an epistemological riddle; Kaplan (1998), who situates her within patriarchal control; and Place (1980), who underscores her dangerous allure. More recent work by Grossman (2009) argues for a reconsideration of the femme fatale as a complex and contradictory figure rather than a mere stereotype. (Grossman, 2009) Beckman builds on these perspectives but seeks to take them further. Instead of reading the femme fatale as always already contained, she argues that Lynch’s non-linear narrative structures allow this figure to evade narrative resolution. This is a significant departure from classical feminist readings of noir.

Central to Beckman’s analysis is Deleuze’s distinction between the movement-image, which characterizes classical, cause-and-effect cinema, and the time-image, which emerges when this logic fails, creating images of duration, memory, and disjunction. (Beckman, 2012) David Rodowick (1997) and Ian Buchanan (2008) demonstrate how Deleuze’s model reconfigures film history, while Boundas (2007) introduces his philosophical reach. (Rodowick & N., 1997) Beckman’s innovation is to apply these categories to gender: she argues that the femme fatale cannot be resolved within Lynch’s time-image structures, thereby gaining “progressive potential” (Beckman, 2012, p. 32).

Despite any narrative disruption, her body remains the site of trauma and spectacle, a reading consistent with Williams’s (1991) argument that cinema often eroticizes female suffering. Moreover, by privileging Deleuze’s categories, Beckman may sideline feminist arguments that women are still represented as abject, excessive, or punished (Kristeva, 1982; Williams, 1991). Similarly, Laura Mulvey’s (1975) concept of the male gaze supports this critique, suggesting that Lynch’s lingering focus on the female body continues to reproduce patriarchal viewing positions. Thus, while intellectually rich, Beckman’s framework might underplay the persistence of patriarchal dynamics within Lynch’s films.

Structurally, Beckman’s article is organized to show the evolution of her main idea across film history. She begins by examining the femme fatale in classic film noir, drawing on critics such as Doane (1991), Place (1980), and Kaplan (1998) to demonstrate how this character is typically controlled by patriarchal storytelling. She then turns to neo-noir films, where irony and self-awareness begin to question these patterns but do not completely move away from them. Finally, Beckman studies Lynch’s films, analyzing Blue Velvet, Lost Highway, and Mulholland Drive in the order they were released. This approach illustrates how the femme fatale in Lynch’s work becomes increasingly difficult to define and less constrained by traditional narrative rules over time (Beckman, 2012, p. 35).

While Beckman’s chronological structure offers clarity, it risks overlooking the thematic recurrences that define Lynch’s engagement with the femme fatale. Reframing the analysis around motifs such as fractured identity and dream logic, rather than release dates, may yield a more nuanced understanding of how Lynch persistently revisits and reconfigures this archetype. Blue Velvet deploys noir conventions with a self-conscious irony, yet retains narrative coherence; Lost Highway introduces a more radical fragmentation of identity and narrative gaps; Mulholland Drive, in turn, dissolves character and chronology to the point where the femme fatale resists any stable interpretation. This thematic approach foregrounds Lynch’s recursive strategies and highlights the limitations of reading his films solely through either feminist or philosophical paradigms, as Poe (2010) observes in relation to Mulholland Drive.

One limitation of Beckman’s approach lies in its implicit suggestion of linear development across Lynch’s oeuvre, when in fact his films are marked by repetition and the recursive return to certain motifs. As Dixon (1998) notes, Lynch continually reworks character types and narrative strategies, resisting any straightforward trajectory of progress. The omission of Inland Empire (2006), arguably his most experimental film, further complicates the notion of a clear evolutionary arc. Organizing the analysis around themes such as identity or dream logic, rather than chronology, might better illuminate the intricate patterns and persistent ambiguities that characterize Lynch’s cinematic practice.

A significant strength of Beckman’s work is the innovative application of Deleuzian philosophy in reconsidering a figure that has been traditionally explored through psychoanalytic or feminist lenses alone. By using Deleuze’s concepts, such as the distinction between the movement-image and the time-image, Beckman offers a new perspective on the femme fatale, directly relating gender issues to cinematic temporality. Scholars such as Rodowick (1997) and Buchanan (2008) have highlighted the power of Deleuze’s ideas in analyzing nonlinear structures; however, few have ventured into feminist territory with these concepts. (2020) Beckman’s study thus distinguishes itself by bridging Deleuzian thought and feminist film criticism.

Another strength lies in Beckman’s ability to synthesize a wide range of academic sources. She engages foundational feminist scholarship such as Doane (1991), Kaplan (1998), and Place (1980), while also drawing on more revisionist work like Grossman (2009). This balanced approach ensures that her analysis does not fall into the trap of treating the femme fatale as a monolithic figure. Instead, Beckman situates the archetype within a dynamic scholarly debate. Her incorporation of Lynch scholarship, including Nochimson (1997), demonstrates that she is attentive to the specific critical controversies surrounding Lynch’s reputation while still advancing a broader theoretical intervention.

Finally, Beckman’s argument is strengthened by the clarity of her prose and her effective use of film analysis. Her close readings of Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive are particularly persuasive, showing how ruptured identities and temporal gaps prevent the femme fatale from being reduced to narrative closure. As Poe (2010) argues, Mulholland Drive is uniquely suited to this type of analysis because of its radical fragmentation. Beckman’s ability to connect such close textual work to abstract theoretical concepts makes her article both accessible and intellectually rigorous.

A first limitation of Beckman’s article is the breadth of her scope. By covering three complex films within the space of a single essay, her analysis of each sometimes remains at the surface. For instance, while her discussion of Blue Velvet highlights the persistence of irony in Lynch’s early work, it does not fully engage with the disturbing gender dynamics of Dorothy Vallens, whose suffering and trauma dominate the narrative. Dixon (1998) notes that Lynch repeatedly explores the intersection of violence and desire in female characters, yet Beckman only gestures at these dynamics before moving quickly to Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive. A narrower focus on a single film might have allowed for a deeper critical engagement.

Another weakness is Beckman’s optimistic view that the femme fatale gains new power in Lynch’s non-linear stories. While these films move away from traditional endings, they do not always result in real empowerment for female characters. Kristeva’s (1982) theory of abjection suggests that women in Lynch’s films often possess qualities that both attract and disturb viewers, yet this does not mean they avoid being victims. Williams (1991) notes that the female body is still often shown as a spectacle, and Clover (1992) observes that women in horror films are still punished, even when the narrative changes. These points suggest that Beckman may not fully address how patriarchal violence continues in Lynch’s films.

A final limitation of Beckman’s article lies in her reliance on Deleuze’s philosophical framework, which can at times overshadow feminist concerns. While her use of the time-image is innovative and intellectually rich, it may obscure key questions about how women are represented and perceived in film. As Grosz (1999) cautions, overly abstract theory risks neglecting the lived realities of gendered embodiment, while Shaviro (1993) reminds us that Lynch’s cinema is not only philosophical but deeply visceral, filled with sensations of fear, desire, and violence that complicate any claim of liberation.

This tension is especially visible in Blue Velvet (1986), where Dorothy Vallens’s body becomes the site of both trauma and spectacle, echoing Williams’s (1991) argument that mainstream cinema often eroticises female suffering. By privileging Deleuze’s categories of the movement-image and time-image, Beckman may unintentionally displace the feminist critique she initially sets out to reframe. This conceptual imbalance leaves her analysis vulnerable to the charge that narrative disruption alone cannot undo the persistent patriarchal structures of cinematic representation.

Beckman’s framework also opens space for further exploration of Lynch’s later work, particularly Inland Empire (2006). This film pushes narrative incoherence to an extreme, abandoning even the partial stability found in Mulholland Drive. Characters multiply, timelines collapse, and identities fragment without resolution, making it a prime candidate for testing Beckman’s claim that the time-image offers progressive potential for female archetypes. As Nochimson (1997) and Shaviro (1993) suggest, Inland Empire represents Lynch at his most experimental, and applying Beckman’s framework here could deepen our understanding of how radical temporal disruptions reshape the femme fatale or expose the limits of her argument when confronted with more chaotic narrative structures. For instance, in one scene where the protagonist's identity seems to dissolve entirely into a series of rapidly shifting characters and settings, one could map Beckman’s criteria to see how the dissolution of identity under extreme narrative fracture challenges or supports her claims. This detailed application could yield fresh insights, either fortifying or prompting a revision of Beckman’s argument regarding the progressive potential of the time-image in Lynch’s films.

Beyond Lynch, Beckman’s approach could be fruitfully applied to other directors who work with non-linear temporality. Wong Kar-wai’s Chungking Express (1994) and 2046 (2004), for example, explore fractured time and unstable female identities within very different cultural contexts. By integrating Deleuze's time-image with feminist frameworks, such as those of Grossman (2009) or Kristeva (1982), it is possible to determine whether narrative disjunction universally destabilizes archetypes like the femme fatale or whether its effects are unique to Lynch's aesthetic. Alternatively, scholars could extend Beckman’s method to other archetypes, such as the detective or victim, to assess whether the time-image enables similar shifts in power and representation. Such additions would respect Beckman's framework while also challenging it, guaranteeing its ongoing applicability in the field of film studies.

In conclusion, Beckman's "From Irony to Narrative Crisis" links feminist film theory with Deleuze's cinematic philosophy to provide a thought-provoking reimagining of the femme fatale in David Lynch's films. Her central claim, that Lynch’s use of the time-image destabilizes patriarchal narrative closure and allows the femme fatale's “progressive potential,” is supported by careful film analysis and an impressive integration of theoretical sources. By situating her work within the broader debates of feminist criticism and Lynch scholarship, Beckman offers a fresh perspective on a figure often dismissed as a mere stereotype.

Nevertheless, the article has its limitations. Its broad scope, optimistic framing, and heavy reliance on Deleuze occasionally obscure the ongoing presence of patriarchal violence and abjection in Lynch’s work. Kristeva (1982), Williams (1991), and Grosz (1999) are among the critics who emphasize that female empowerment is not necessarily contingent upon fractured temporality. Nevertheless, Beckman's work is a valuable contribution, as it encourages academics to examine the intersection of narrative structure and gender portrayal. The application of her framework to the Inland Empire, Wong Kar-wai, or other cinematic traditions would further elucidate the extent to which narrative disruption can genuinely transform archetypes, such as the femme fatale. Beckman thus succeeds in shifting the debate from whether Lynch is misogynistic to how his formal experimentation complicates the very categories through which we understand female characters in cinema.

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Filmography

a

Lost Highway (1997) Directed by David Lynch. USA: October Films.

Mulholland Drive (2001) Directed by David Lynch. USA/France: Universal Pictures.

Inland Empire (2006) Directed by David Lynch. USA/Poland: Studio Canal.

Femme Fatale (2002) Directed by Brian De Palma. France/USA: Warner Bros.

The Last Seduction (1994) Directed by John Dahl. USA: October Films.

Chungking Express (1994) Directed by Wong Kar-wai. Hong Kong: Jet Tone Productions.

2046 (2004) Directed by Wong Kar-wai. Hong Kong: Jet Tone Productions.