Rebekah Del Rio Gave the Vocal Performance of a Lifetime in David Lynch's "Mulholland Drive"

A few months ago, the Somerville Theater in Somerville, Mass., paid tribute to the passing of David Lynch by hosting a week-long celebration of his filmography. I've seen plenty of repertory theaters play films in the wake of a filmmaker's passing, but the sizable crowds in every screening of "Blue Velvet," 'Wild at Heart" and even "Dune" is the closest I've come in recent memory to a collective cinematic mourning. Seeing "Part 8" of "Twin Peaks: The Return" on the big screen was a real treat, but the title I was most interested to revisit was "Mulholland Drive," which I had only ever seen once. It's widely recognized as one of those great works of art that reveal itself with multiple viewings. "Mulholland Drive" was born out of a 90-minute television pilot made for ABC, who ended up rejecting Lynch's noir-based mystery due to creative disagreements. When the footage made its way to StudioCanal, he was able to secure funding to film enough material to transform it into a feature film, becoming a 21st Century masterpiece in the process. I've always been nervous to talk about "Mulholland Drive" because it's such a seminal nightmare of the 2000s. Lynch weaponizes silence and space to make you feel like you're moments away from the most terrifying thing you've ever seen. At the same time, it's an intricate puzzle box about identity that almost works better in the esoteric. I feel compelled to talk about one of its best scenes not just because it evoked an emotional response, but also because it takes on a significantly more haunting aura now. About halfway through the film, the amnesia-stricken Rita (Laura Harring) brings her new friend/caretaker Betty (Naomi Watts) to an entertainment venue called Club Silencio. Upon arrival, the stage master (Richard Green) repeats the phrase, "No hay banda," which stands for, "There is no band." Everything is prerecorded. It's no secret to us, nor the spectators. But then something magical happens. Out of the red curtains appears a beautiful woman dressed in red and black. She sings "Llorando," a Spanish a cappella cover of Ray Orbison's "Crying," with a burning passion, as Rita and Betty are moved to tears. Hearing that voice echo throughout the Somerville Theater made me feel a similar weight of overwhelming emotions. That voice belongs to a singer named Rebekah Del Rio, who sadly passed away a few weeks ago. Del Rio may not have been a traditional actress, yet she makes a meal out of her five minutes of screen time. Her rendition of "Llorando" is one of the crucial linchpins of the entire film in ways that feel eerie without her presence in the world. For one, the song plays as a reflection of Rita and Betty's personhood. It's not too long after Del Rio's number that the second half of "Mulholland Drive" expands upon the surrealistic nature of duality. Her captivating performance is instrumental in breaking down the facade of a television-based neo-noir steeped in mounting questions into something much uglier and sadder. Club Silencio is unnervingly upfront about its trick and illusions, yet it feels so violating to be broken out of Del Rio's spell when she faints on stage and the music keeps going. It shouldn't come as a surprise. We were told up front that everything is a pre-ordained facade of sorts, after all. Del Rio's vocal talent is so beautiful that you get lost in the music anyways. I felt my stomach drop, however, when she suddenly fell to the floor, as if I was broken out of a trance. In the moment, it's a brilliant metaphor of the entertainment industry and how nothing is ever as it seems. With Del Rio's death, it serves another purpose as a memorial. The track we hear in the film comes from Del Rio, who also ended up singing "Llorando" live on set during each take with Harring and Watts in attendance. She doesn't move her mouth like someone who's lip-synching to her own music, so you can see how startling it is to see her drop. Something very similar happened on June 26, 2025, when Del Rio was pronounced dead. I lost track of how many people shared her scene on various social media channels because it had such a profound impact on them too. Del Rio's recording still plays on, while her physical presence abruptly leaves us. Although the shock factor is still there, it suddenly becomes a much, much sadder turn of events that further accentuates her absence from this world. But this isn't the only collaboration she performed in a Lynch project. The Los Angeles-based singer appears at the end of "Part 10" of "Twin Peaks: The Return" singing "No Stars," a dreamy ballad she co-wrote with Lynch and John Neff. Once again, she demonstrates the kind of heavenly tenor that made her feel as ethereal as the worlds Lynch envisions. There is no one like Del Rio and there never will be. She's been escorted off the world stage, but her music will persist long afterwards. Rest in peace, Rebekah, and thank you for sharing your tremendous gift. "Mulholland Drive" is now available for rental/purchase on most streaming platforms.