#if they are doing twin peaks i hope its more fwwm than the show

[pinkeoni]

“There was actually an ancient eldrith being pulling the strings the whole ti—“ LAME. LAME.

[alexanderwrites]

Thoughts Roundup - Twin Peaks: The Return, Part 13

“What Story is That, Charlie?”

Last week, when we were given an episode that was slow, withholding with its information, and for many, very frustrating, I wasn’t worried. I wasn’t worried, because I knew it was just a strange, brief detour and that we should focus on the journey rather than the destination. I also didn’t worry because I thought the next episode would be better, and thankfully I was right. I’m no Angelo Badalamenti, so I won’t toot my own horn too much but I think now, hours after watching it, I’m realising that I was very right, because this isn’t just a better episode, but is one of the all time best Twin Peaks episodes. It keeps that steady pace, but there’s an alchemy of all the ingredients that’ve made this season so great, which tonight forms a cohesive, exciting and deeply involving hour of television. 

. It’s party time for the Mitchum brothers, and party time for the soundtrack producers who give us one of the wildest and weirdest cuts yet. I don’t know how to describe it other than it being a demented casino style nonsense song, and I might be wrong, but the percussion pattern sounds a lot like a sped up version of the drumming in The Bookhouse Boys, a track from the Season 1 soundtrack. It’s nice seeing Coop enjoying himself, and it’s funny how happy he has made the Mitchum brothers, Janey-E, and his boss. The fact that he can still manage this despite being a silent, largely unresponsive man who walks into glass doors, speaks to the innate happiness that Cooper has always brought people, only this time it’s accidental. People want him around, and I think it’d be quite a bittersweet ending if he does wake up and leave for Twin Peaks. Yes, it’d be satisfying for us, but Janey-E wouldn’t have her husband anymore, Sonny Jim wouldn’t have a dad, and The Mitchum Brothers wouldn’t have anyone to buy pie for. Before it becomes the Everybody Loves Dougie show, Anthony steps in to put an end to him, but even he can’t bring himself to poison Dougie to death! So Dougie-Coop has his sharp black suit, a black coffee and a piece of cherry pie. Whereas we once would’ve said “THIS will be what wakes him up!”, we’ve stopped expecting it and instead learned to enjoy the pleasure he takes in scoffing the stuff down. While it can feel melancholy when signifiers from his past edge him towards who he used to be, some of these episodes hint at the idea that maybe he’s happy where he is. We want him to get back to his old self, but do we want that for him or for us? He’s had the food and drink that he loves, he’s walking around amazed by everything, and even uncovered a considerable crime. Everything about him is there, really. And I’m beginning to feel like that’s enough for me. Then the Fusco Brothers attain a crucial piece of the puzzle that’d help get Cooper back home, decide to throw it out, and I laugh “FOR FUCK’S SAKE”. Dougie’s prints reveal that he was an FBI Agent and broke out of a maximum security prison, and away this is tossed because of its unlikeliness. It’s funny, really. Because it is unlikely, it is absurd, and that such an important fact has been discovered and thrown out immediately by the police is hilariously frustrating. I loved this moment, Eric Edelstein’s weird and distinctive laugh commenting on how ridiculous this all is.

. I love how adoringly Janey E looks at Cooper when she opens the car door for him. They’ve come a long way since she was angrily cramming him into the car, and it’s nice to see her not suffering the financial burden that the original Dougie left her in. Naomi Watts is really effective when painting Janey E as someone rediscovering feelings for her husband, and it’s actually kind of touching. And Sonny Jim’s Gym is so fucking bizarre. Why does it play music-box versions of Tchaikovsky? Why does it have a prison-style search light? Why anything? I love it.  

Continuing in the lovey-dovey, not-so-bad-after-all vein of things, this season has had a lot of characters turn out to be not quite as awful as you expect them to be. The Mitchum Brothers showed a kind of generosity, Ben Horne is an altruist, and Anthony has a breakdown in front of his boss and Dougie, claiming he wants to be a better man. I mean, you can’t call him a good person just because he didn’t MURDER COOPER, but it’s nice to get a variety of technically bad people who, when it boils down to it, don’t really want to be that bad. It’s not such a bad world after all, hey?

. Actually yes it because fucking Doppelcoop is on the warpath again, and this time he’s getting what he wants via arm wrestling, just like Sylvester Stallone in Over the Top. And just like Sly claims himself to be in Over The Top, Doppelcoop is a machine, and the amount of control he displays in this scene is really quite frightening. “It hurts when you had my arm like this. Let’s go back to starting position. It’s really much more comfortable”, he says, arm-wrestling a boss of a bunch of bastards so that he can get to bad old Ray. He demonstrates that he has the entire arm-wrestle under his control, and can position his arm wherever he wants without exerting force. He can win, and kill, without trying. This is who Doppelcooper is, and why he is such a formidable force. He rarely exerts power, but when he does it is effortless and unstoppable. He will get what he wants, and every piece of his journey has been carefully manipulated and decided by him, and that’s what this scene shows. The gang watching on heavily resemble the spirits above the convenience store in FWWM, and I think this is a purposeful visual metaphor, a way to tie them visually to the evil that lurks upstairs. When Doppelcoop wins, he gets Ray and the scene that follows is an immensely satisfying one. 

The ring that we’ve seen numerous times gets a visual explanation, sort of. Ray wears it when he is killed by Doppelcoop. It then disappears to the black lodge, where his soul shows up shortly after. It seems to say quite clearly that wear the ring when you die, and you end up on that famous zig zag floor, with fucking Mike. What a bummer he’d be to spend eternity with. Before Ray snuffs it, he talks about Phillip Jeffries, who sent Ray to kill Doppelcoop because he has something he wants, which is Bob, who is in hot demand this season. I’m glad to hear Jeffries mentioned again, and part of me still holds out hope that David Bowie filmed a super duper secret cameo before he passed away, but i’m not counting on it. Maybe the closest we’ll get to seeing him is that mysterious blinking box all those episodes ago. But, Ray claims that he was last seen at a place called The Dutchman’s, and this is all Doppelcoop needs to hear. Ray’s death feels big, not necessarily because he was an important character, but because they discuss Jeffries, the ring and Major Briggs, which all ties into the mythology of the show, a mythology which was also discussed last week with Albert. Now listen, i’m easily pleased when it comes to the Twin Peaks lore - say the words ‘lodge’, ‘blue book’ or even ‘Owl’ to me and i’ll begin jittering in excitement. I may even sick up. But this is more important and integral to the storyline that simply chucking out bits of lore, and that makes it so much fucking cooler. Doppelcoop is working towards it, the Bookhouse Boys are heading towards it and the FBI are heading towards it. The idea of them converging is too fucking exciting to process. So. Ray is dead (Nobody Loved Raymond), and Doppelcoop is on his way to either Twin Peaks via the coordinates that Ray gave him, or The Dutchman’s, wherever the hell that is. 

. Tim Roth and Jennifer Jason Leigh are still driving around and i’m guessing, will hook back up with Doppelcoop soon. Their scenes are usually very short, but they’re both such great actors that i’m fine to just hear them shoot the shit for a couple of minutes. 

. Back in Twin Peaks, Becky is still having domestic issues, and Shelly is still being a warm and kind Mum, telling Becky to get to the Double R and have some pie. It’s strange seeing her serving there all these years on, and strange seeing Bobby at the counter, especially because all the camera angles that used to capture the diner are absent, and we’re seeing the place in a completely different visual manner. It feels much more like a legitimate restaurant now, and this is developed with Norma discussing business options with who seems to be her boyfriend. So, no. She didn’t end up with Big Ed, and like Bobby watching Shelly and wondering what might’ve been, Ed watches Norma from a booth further down. He can see her clearly, but she’s a world away. There’s a deep melancholy in seeing Big Ed alone, things clearly not having worked out with either Norma or Nadine. The past, when things looked hopeful, feel like a million years ago, and everything has changed since then. Except for him. Bobby has grown up and become someone his father would’ve been proud of, Norma is franchising, Nadine has perfected the silent drapes. But Big Ed is still pining across the shiny tables for Norma like it’s 1990. 

And Norma is trying to keep things as they are, too. She’s encouraged to change the name of the restaurant, but she wants to keep it as it is, the way people know it. It’s an argument that summarises the attitude of The Return: do you give in and listen to what you’re being told people want, or do you follow your gut and make choices you are passionate about, in the way that you decide? Thank god Lynch and Frost didn’t listen to anyone. Norma knows what the Double R means to the people of the town, and she knows how much people need it, as a source of comfort and of solace. And she can franchise, and have restaurants popping up that try to be the real deal, but there’s really only one Double R, and there’s only one Twin Peaks. And in these scenes, that feeling of solace and comfort feels close yet a million miles away: unmistakably warm, but shot through with that heartrending, small town melancholy. There’s nothing quite like it.

(A little thing I noticed about Bobby - he says he found his dad’s old stuff “today” - but they found his stuff several episode ago, and since then Bobby has been seen at night. So is this Double R scene not chronological, and is actually set a few days back?)

. The reason that the comfort of the Double R feels somehow distant, unattainable and kind of false is because of scenes like Audrey’s in this episode. We can’t sit in the diner and pretend everything is okay in the town, when we know a storm is brewing outside. The argument has moved on between her and Charlie, from being about what has happened to how Audrey feels. And how she feels is heartbreaking. Like she’s not herself and that she doesn’t know who she is, and Charlie’s reaction? Scorn. Condescension. Treating her like the teenager she was when we last saw her. The scene has moved away from feeling frustrating and into nightmarish territory, the wood panelling of the walls making the room feel like a cabin in purgatory, or a real life black lodge. And Charlie’s words become more vague, and more frightening. He speaks of ‘ending her story’, and the discomfort of this scene really brings into the question the dynamics between the two, who he really is, and where they really are. The scene develops an emotional core to the storyline, and we begin to desperately want Audrey to get out from between these two worlds that she’s stuck in, and to leave that horrible room. Like Big Ed, like Cooper and like so many others, she is trying to return, but is stuck. 

. How they’ve managed to make the Palmer living room look more frightening than it did before is beyond me. Sarah drinks and smokes in the sickly darkness, watching a 15 second loop of an ancient boxing match which repeats ad nauseum, like the electric bear that spoke the words “Hello Johnny, how are you today?” endlessly a few episodes back. It feels nightmarish, and you want it to end. But it is stuck. Are we sensing the theme in play here again? The room feels angry and oppressive, and it’s reasonable to expect something evil and awful to materialise in it at any moment. But the horror is not Bob, or the ceiling fan, but the situation of Sarah: a woman who has lost everything, and whose life is full of dread and solitude. 

. Nadine and Dr Jacoby’s interaction is lovely, and feels like a genuine moment between two old friends who haven’t seen each other for many years. Except one has an eyepatch and a silent drape running shop and the other sells golden shit shovels via his angry livestreams. The point is, it feels real, and Wendy Robie still beautifully imbues Nadine with that almost schoolgirlish nervousness and innocence. She is pure in her exuberance towards Jacoby and her drapes, and she seems star struck by her former doctor. I’m so fond of Nadine, and there is a moment that hints at a sadness or darkness in her past, when Jacoby remembers seeing her on her hands and knees in a supermarket trying to pick up a potato. “There was a storm that night”, he says, and she looks afraid, and sad. What happened to her? What happened to all these people in this town? What has time done to them, and why do they all have to live with such pain? 

. And before we know it, we’re back at the Roadhouse, and this week we have probably the most divisive (read: unpopular) performer yet. Yes, it’s James Forehead Hurley, singing Just You and I. I can’t pretend to feel how i’m supposed to feel as a Twin Peaks fan and hate on this, because truly, I loved this moment. I loved it more than any roadhouse scene yet, and I have a big soft spot for James. The poor bastard had a rough time of it, and yes, he was a moody mope, but I feel for him. I was moved by seeing him received so well by the audience, and seeing him perform that song (which I will now have in my head for the next fortnight) made him look young and happy again, and I found it massively touching. It was a bittersweet moment of nostalgic melancholy, elevated by the image of Big Ed back at the Gas Farm, eating his Double R soup all alone. 

There Ed sits, thinking about how things were, and how they are now. Or maybe it’s us that’s thinking about it. Because we can listen to old songs, and sit in the Double R eating cherry pie, but we know evil forces are on their way to town, and already exist there. There is a goodness too, in the log lady, the bookhouse boys, in Ed, Norma, and Nadine. But they’ve been through too much to have that innocence, and the questions that The Return brings us is how can we ever go back to the way things were? And how much power do we have to prevent the bad things from happening again? I’ve been thinking of the song Ohm by Yo La Tengo, where they sing:

“Sometimes the bad days maintain their grip Sometimes the good days fade...

But nothing ever stays the same Nothing's explained”

That feeling, that we might never get back the good days, and that it doesn’t always happen for a clear reason, is prevalent in tonight’s episode, which explores how the characters that populate the show feel. It might not be explained exactly what has happened, but as well as starting to piece together the mystery, Part 13 interrogates the deepest emotional wells of the show, and it results in a moving and beautiful episode that deftly blends darkly satisfying plot progression and emotional complexity (I know it’s weird to call an episode where someone is punched in the face to death “beautiful”, but i’m sticking with it). 

“I’m not sure who I am, but I’m not me”

[friedesgreatscythe]

A conversation I had with myself while cleaning:

Soap operas are the modern day gothic romance and, like all things coded romance and feminine, they are unnecessarily maligned/used as shorthand for something bad/poorly written.

What are the trademark traits of a soap opera? Secrets, lies, betrayal, families, murder/death, sex. All of these are presented to the viewer in heightened levels while using melodrama as a foundation instead of a peak. Gothic romances, and the Gothic as a genre, use all these things and are always, in every moment, achieving some state of melodramatic grace. Secrets, lies, families, murder/death, sex--all of these things exist in the Gothic and are often heavily intertwined as to be impossible to separate from the other. They are compounded layers and knots woven into a narrative’s fabric.

So why and when did soap operas become shorthand for something bad, when all they do is continue the tradition that gothic romance novels have been doing since their inception several centuries ago? Hell, we even GOT a gothic soap opera in the 20th century (Dark Shadows), which was slowly paced, dripping with drama and twists and secrets and dramatic irony, that at times it was almost oppressive. The only other show I can think of off the top of my head that continues this tradition (slow pacing, twists, secrets) is Twin Peaks (both the original, the film Fire Walk With Me, and the season three/revival). What Twin Peaks does differently is remove context from many of its scenes, presenting the audience sequences of the story and the puzzling aspects of it without explanation, demanding the audience feel as a response, instead of react/review what is laid out in front of them. Dark Shadows and other soap operas have plots that are relatively easier to follow, but still leave room for guessing and logical predictions to make within the show’s themes. Make no mistake, however: Twin Peaks is as much a soap opera as Dark Shadows is, and for the love of god please do not watch the Burton movie of it.

I find it so satisfying and equally frustrating that Twin Peaks, which is so heavily draped in melodrama and soap opera tropes and the Gothic, is such a classic show, heavily praised and lauded as a groundbreaking story (which it was and is), while at the same time is not recognized more widely as being a soap opera. It’s the weird cousin of General Hospital, One Life to Live, etc., but it is very much within their family tree. Hell, just look at the names of soap operas! They’re dramatic and Gothic as fuck: One Life to Live, As The World Turns, The Young and Restless, The Bold and the Beautiful, The Edge of Hope, Days of Our Lives, Passions--and the list goes on. There are even more than a few whose names are borrowed from the fictional towns in which they take place, much like Twin Peaks itself.

Side bar: this is also why I like Life Is Strange so much. The game is far from a masterpiece, or even a solid story (it’s a 5/10 at best for me), but the potential it has as a soap opera narrative is what draws me to it and why I like its concepts so much.

Every single one of those titles puts me in mind of a heroine fleeing a dark house in a stormy night, her face a perfect image of terror; every title makes me think of oppressive secrets and quickly stifled emotional intrigue that a newcomer stumbles upon and everyone else is deadset determined to keep buried (sometimes literally). Every title, even the ones of towns, suggests that there is a world bubbling and churning and seething inside of that title, a world that is just waiting and dreading to be discovered. And that, too, is Twin Peaks.

I think it very likely Lynch and Frost knew what they were doing with this, by the way, since Twin Peaks’ original seasons had their own meta in-universe soap opera that was a mirror of the mysteries and events happening in town. Of all the changes that were made between FWWM and S3, it’s this soap opera’s absence that I notice the most keenly. I don’t think there’s a proper replacement in the show so far either, which I think is just a reflection of the times: there is the doctor’s weird local radio show, and there are live performances at the bar, but both of these things only offer us a very small part of Twin Peaks looking back at itself through a dramatic lens (and that lens is entirely imaginary: they don’t have to really ‘look’ at anything, they can create the visuals based on the sound). The town and its people currently have nothing by which to really see themselves through the mask of an in-universe show, and this creates a very listless, drifting, aimlessly eerie sort of narrative, one that is spread across the world and yet has its roots in a small Washington town and in the death of one teenage girl. It’s very sprawling and almost agoraphobically terrifying in that way, where most soap operas confine themselves to one town/city, one group of characters, etc.

Anyway, to wrap up: Soap operas are the Gothic’s modern way of holding the mirror up to nature and showing us our own selves reflected right back, with no white washing, no trimming of unseemlier bits, and no reduction of what is ugly and emotional and raw. And I love the potential of this in written fiction, especially romance fiction. I want to fully embrace my natural impulse to make most of my current original works melodramatic and bizarre, because I’m naturally following my instincts and keeping in line with the Gothic. I shouldn’t hesitate to say I’m writing a soap opera romantic mystery. I shouldn’t shy from that association. After all, sci-fi bros got to take it and spin their stories into space operas, so why the fuck can’t I take pride in a speculative/strange opera?