Thursday, July 14, 2005

It is happening again.

I've spent a week trying to adequately describe my joy in returning to David Lynch and Mark Frost's magnificent "Twin Peaks." Every time I started, I'd never be able to precisely express what makes the show so unique/special/original/your cliche here. Then I realized, um, duh, that's the goddam point.
Sure, you can point to things: Kyle MacLachlan's ridiculously great performance, Angelo Badalamenti's perfect score, the way the crew treated each episode as if they were making a film, the brilliant collision of the high-brow (i.e., the cinema of David Lynch) and the low-brow (i.e., soap opera), and on and on. But that's not what keeps me coming back...
What keeps me coming back is the recurring image of the stop-light, hanging there in the night, turning red for no one. And that often used transitional shot of the trees blowing in the wind. And the way that everything in Twin Peaks seems damp, without it ever really raining. And how your brain jumps the TV censorship boundaries by connecting key motifs (the homecoming queen / the woods at night / abandoned train car / her arms "bent back" / then dead, wrapped in plastic).
Yes, the indelible characters and pie & coffee jokes and Who Killed Laura Palmer? are all part of the show's allure. But the show's real power hides in those fleeting images and ideas and textures that shoot straight to the Id.


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