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Time of India
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Who is Rebekah Del Rio? voice of 'Llorando' in Mulholland drive, passes away at 57 after years of collaborating with David Lynch
Rebekah Del Rio, the singer best known for her haunting performance of Llorando in David Lynch's Mulholland Drive, has passed away at the age of 57. Her death was confirmed by the Los Angeles Coroner's Office. While no further details have been disclosed, her sudden demise marks the end of a career that left a distinctive mark in music and film. Del Rio rose to fame in the early 1990s and became widely known through her long-standing collaboration with filmmaker David Lynch. A memorable partnership with David Lynch Del Rio and Lynch first crossed paths in the mid-90s when she was signed under a country music deal in Nashville. Their collaboration began with a Spanish-language version of Roy Orbison's Crying, titled Llorando. Lynch recorded her vocal performance during their first meeting, a moment that would later influence one of his most iconic film scenes. The song became central to a key moment in Mulholland Drive, originally developed as a TV pilot but later turned into a feature film by Lynch. The emotional Club Silencio scene, featuring Del Rio's live performance, moved both characters — played by Naomi Watts and Laura Elena Harring — to tears. In a 2022 interview with IndieWire, Del Rio reflected on filming the scene, explaining, 'There were many takes. I sang along each time to maintain the same emotion with my vibrato, so the audience could see it.' She added that she performed directly to Harring and Watts, who were present during the shoot. Del Rio's expanding career in film After gaining widespread attention from Llorando, Del Rio was approached by director Richard Kelly and went on to appear in his 2006 sci-fi film Southland Tales. She performed during the film's final sequence, singing The Star-Spangled Banner in a dramatic setting. Her voice was also featured in other films including Man on Fire, Sin City, and Streets of Legend. Del Rio remained active in music and continued her creative association with Lynch, contributing to other projects in the years that followed. Her early life and move to Los Angeles Rebekah Del Rio was born on July 10, 1967, in California. She began her music career performing in San Diego before eventually relocating to Los Angeles to pursue greater opportunities in the Del Rio leaves behind a unique musical legacy, defined by emotional depth and memorable screen performances.
Pink Villa
27-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Pink Villa
Who Was Rebekah Del Rio? All We Know About Mulholland Drive Singer's Sudden Demise at 57
Trigger Warning: This article contains mention of death. Rebekah Del Rio has passed away. The singer of Mulholland Drive and the popular musician who performed Llorando in David Lynch's classic was announced dead at her residence by the Los Angeles Coroner's Office. The singer was 57. No further details about the unfortunate incident were revealed. The vocalist made her mark in the music industry during the early 90s. She went on to gain fame after collaborating with Lynch. Rebekah Del Rio and David Lynch's long-standing collaboration Rebekah Del Rio and David Lynch first met in the mid-90s and collaborated under a country record deal in Nashville. The opportunity turned out to be huge for the singer, as she crooned to the lyrics of Llorando, a Spanish-language cover of Roy Orbison's Crying. When the duo first met, Lynch asked Del Rio to sing the track and recorded her raw voice. While the song was a huge hit among listeners, it also played a significant role in transforming the Club Silencio scene. The song was later included in Mulholland Drive, an ABC pilot that had already been rejected and that Lynch was reworking into a feature film. The sequence in the film marks an emotional turmoil of the leads, Naomi Watts and Laura Elena Harring, who both burst into tears as they watched Del Rio performing the track. In her interview with IndieWire in 2022, the musician reflected on her hit song. Del Rio said, "There were many takes. And with every take, I sang along, because I felt I had to produce that same feeling with the vibrato in my throat so the audience could see it." She further added, I also wanted the beautiful girls in the balcony [the film's stars], Laura Harring and Naomi Watts, to experience it live. They were present while I was doing my scene, so I sang to them." Exploring Rebekah Del Rio's career Following her popularity in the music industry with Llorando, the singer was approached by writer-director Richard Kelly, and the two collaborated on his 2006 sci-fi dystopian film, Southland Tales. The musician went on to record Sin City, Man on Fire, and Streets of Legend. She also performed The Star-Spangled Banner during the apocalyptic final act. The singer then continued her collaboration with David Lynch in the later years as well. They worked together on the tracks of various films that the latter directed. Del Rio was born on July 10, 1967, in California. When she began performing in San Diego, she relocated to Los Angeles.
The Independent
31-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Independent
Apocalypse constantly: The perverse reasons we love to watch ourselves die on screen
I t has been showered with meteors and blitzed by the Bomb, eaten by fauna and throttled by flora. It has faced acts of God and alien invaders and sentient man-made parasites, which escaped from a lab. Director Roland Emmerich's disaster movie 2012 (2009) upended the globe with a massive solar flare. Richard Kelly's arthouse oddity Southland Tales (2006) opted for the inadvertent catalyst of two strangers shaking hands. Forget Janet Leigh in the shower or Drew Barrymore on the phone: it's the planet itself that is cinema's greatest scream queen, wheeled out regularly to be tortured and murdered in interesting ways. There's only one thing Hollywood likes better than a happy ending, it seems, and that's an unhappy ending for absolutely everybody concerned. The world dies yet again in The End , a lavish, drunken curtain-call of a musical in which Tilda Swinton plays mother to humanity's last hold-outs. The scene is a salt mine half a mile underground that has been lovingly made over as a well-appointed family home. There are Monet paintings on the wall and a deferential dancing butler who dispenses fine wine every night. But the planet has burned, which means that everyone upstairs is now dead. Of course, climate change is to blame, the people in the bunker concede. But they're still quibbling over the science and blithely absolve themselves of all guilt. They refill their glasses and beam at one another across the dining room table as the doomsday clock ticks well past midnight. In most movie musicals, the songs are perky and optimistic; gateways to the future. Here they're desperate pick-me-ups and nostalgic bawlers, hopelessly nodding at the rear-view mirror. Indirectly – probably unintentionally – The End nods to the past as well. The movie is written and directed by Joshua Oppenheimer, surely the ideal name for a director embarking on a film about man's capacity to destroy the planet. And just as the film's characters drag their back-stories into the underground bunker, so too do the main actors who play them. Swinton's Mother, for instance, might be seen as the timid, fragrant flipside of the clownish controller the actor portrayed in Bong Joon-ho's dystopian thriller Snowpiercer (2013). George MacKay, who co-stars as the tragic, innocent Son, filled a similar role in Kevin Macdonald's underrated English fall-out drama How I Live Now (2013). Michael Shannon's bullish turn as Father stirs obvious memories of his lights-out performance as raging Curtis LaForche, the Midwestern prophet of doom from Jeff Nichols' Take Shelter (2011). Maybe it's the fate of every new apocalypse-themed movie to carry the ghosts of the ones that went before. All of which is to say that there is a lovely in-built irony to every apocalypse film. In depicting the collapse of fragile planet Earth, they constitute what is arguably the most robust and durable film genre of them all. DW Griffith had no sooner established the template for narrative cinema with The Birth of a Nation (1915) when the Danish director August Blom was making The End of the World (1916), a prototype disaster movie that effectively wrote the script for all the copycats that followed. The end, in other words, was right there at the start. The evidence suggests that our planet gets the apocalypse films it deserves – or at least the films that address its inhabitants' most pressing concerns. Blom's silent film was prompted by public panic surrounding Haley's Comet, which had blazed over Denmark just a few years previously. The genre classics of the Cold War era – On the Beach (1959), Dr Strangelove (1964), Planet of the Apes (1968) – were preoccupied with the atom bomb; the films of the Seventies and Eighties with overpopulation, pollution and the hazards of runaway technology. During the first Covid lockdown of April 2020, viewers had to click back through the archive in search of pandemic-appropriate entertainment. The cinemas were shuttered and film production was mothballed. But Outbreak (1995) and Contagion (2011) became the season's big streaming blockbusters. Naturally, each worry – each crisis – merits a slightly different response. This explains why a film about alien invaders might be more gung-ho and exciting than a film about the aftermath of a thermonuclear war or the collapse of the ocean current system. It also accounts for the uncompromising bleakness of The End . Oppenheimer's musical is the latest addition to a burgeoning sub-genre of so-called 'cli-fi' – speculative climate fiction about the dead planet that awaits right around the next bend. Cli-fi might take the form of a brash satire, like Adam McKay's Don't Look Up (2021), or a soulful cats-and-capybara cartoon, like Gints Zilbalodis's Flow (2024), or a sad singalong inside an underground bunker, but it inhabits a murky, post-apocalyptic moral universe that is worlds away from the primary-coloured terrain of a film such as Deep Impact (1998) or The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951). In the purest, truest cli-fi pictures, there are no Martians to battle or zombies to flee. The only real villain is climate breakdown itself, which is another way of saying that the only real villain is us. Doomsday bop: Tilda Swinton and George MacKay sing through the pain in 'The End' (Neon) The characters in The End sing songs to cheer themselves up and to steady their nerves. I wonder if that's why we watch films about the end of the world. Perversely, they might be a distraction from doom-scrolling on our phones, if only because it's a grubby relief to see people who are worse off than we are and a comfort to see chaos framed as a tidy two-hour drama. Also, I think, because the genre's longevity carries an underlying message of hope, assuring us that we've been here before and we'll be here again, even as it bellows in our faces that the end is upon us. The apocalypse movie deploys a variety of tactics. It can be angry or anguished; it can rage, plead or thrill. But this is cinema's equivalent of the hard-bitten pub landlord who calls last orders and time and steers his patrons to the door, safe in the knowledge that he'll be serving them again the next day.
