 |
| Kyle MacLachlan |
In some ways, Twin Peaks is a quintessential analysis of fan culture in general. When it premiered in the 90's, it satirized soap operas by adding supernatural twists. David Lynch and Mark Frost tested the limits of viewers' patience as the show evolved from a grounded mystery of "Who killed Laura Palmer?" to the less grounded themes that make up Lynch's other work. Its lack of proper closure, even with a radically different movie following its cancellation, was frustrating in ways that wouldn't become present until shows like Lost took up the Twin Peaks mantle. With The Return, the series returned after a 25 year hiatus and was met with the familiar confusion of what would be expected. Would Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) still be in The Black Lodge? What would it even be about? The Return was as much a reboot of the series as it was a commentary on what it means to bring a show back to life. Much like before, Lynch and Frost couldn't help but end on a note that's still being tested in labs for consistency. In that way, this 18 episode miniseries not only perfected a 21st century weirdness, it created an insurmountable art form that shows can be brought back, but they'll never be the same.
Much like the show's announced return, fans were eager to know what would happen when that Angelo Badalamenti score picked up. Where would Cooper be? What would the fine folks of Twin Peaks, Washington be doing 25 years after they were last seen? Fans have eagerly dissected the previous 30 episodes and movie Fire Walk With Me for clues, but there was almost no guarantee that Lynch, a filmmaker who is nothing but unpredictable even at his most accessible, would satisfy. He didn't last time that the show was on - though how much of that was networks getting annoyed that the back half of season two was lacking the electricity of what came before? There was a lot to assume would happen, but satisfaction was always the least plausible thing. It's why when the show started, it almost felt like one giant joke on the audience, moving slowly through landscapes that: A. Didn't have Dale Cooper; and B. Didn't take place largely in Twin Peaks.
The mystery wouldn't even be clear for the first few hours, but the weirdness was almost immediate. There were gruesome deaths, kinky sex scenes, and a darker tone that separated The Return from its former quaint limitations of broadcast TV. It created a starvation that made audiences both frustrated and even more curious. In a very smart move, Showtime released the first four episodes on premiere night, helping to create the mold of what the sow was going to be. It wouldn't give answers, nor would it borrow heavily from the soapy melodrama that came before. It wouldn't even play half of the iconic score pieces until the final stretch of episodes. What it did have was an establishment of world, of which Lynch has claimed were parts of a tapestry for his "18 hour movie." Released prominently over 18 weeks, it was both essential TV and just as baffling to watch in pieces. The answers didn't come fast enough, and soon the magic of Twin Peaks was understood once again.
The show was never about the destination. While the Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) mystery had a satisfying ending, its conclusion opened up more questions involving supernatural themes that The Return expanded upon. It made the whole idea of good versus evil into an almost universal experience, introducing new characters and scenarios that reflected a world outside of Twin Peaks. Even then, the show couldn't help but be antagonistic to its own fan base as Dale Cooper returned in multiple forms (six total), including the macho villain dubbed "Mr. C" by fans, and the infantile and innocent Dougie, the latter of which became a litmus test for fans who were eager to see THEIR Dale Cooper come back to life. Everything else seemed at place, but the lack of this one element made the show just not feel... right.
It is here that the Lynch commentary kicks into gear. Whereas the original run commented on the trivial and meandering nature of crime series past their prime, The Return was a commentary on reboot culture in general. With almost every show from the 90's getting their version of The Return, Twin Peaks seemed a bit obvious given its cult fandom. However, one aspect that Lynch and Frost understood was that rebooted shows don't often feel the same, even if the cast is the same. The characters have aged, and some have grown bitter and cynical, or rarely redemptive. They have become tertiary to their own universe. That's part of the magic of The Return. Even as everything looked familiar, it wasn't the same, and that was quite literal with Mr. C and Dougie, who were used far past fan's tolerance for them. Ironically, one could read it as a commentary on these type of shows in general outstaying their welcome.
However, the greatest moment in reboot satire came in the eighth episode. Where most franchises resort to lazy origin stories at some point, there's no denying that Lynch and Frost had an idea more bizarre. They didn't just give an origin for a character, they gave it for an all-encompassing evil. The original run featured evil in the form of "Bob," who inhabited people's bodies. What The Return presupposed was that Bob was born from a nuclear blast and eventually inhabited a gas station before entering the body of a man covered in grease who asked people for a light. It explains Bob, but does it explain anything about what the audience just saw? In some ways, Lynch and Frost's greatest attribution is their antagonism, refusing to make a single thing easy for audiences. They now know where Bob came from, but did it close any doors on the mystery that is Twin Peaks? Not even close.
In some ways, the show earned satisfaction in the final stretch as Dale Cooper returned to save the day, even if momentarily. It was then that the real story began to form. Even when Cooper returned to Twin Peaks and "destroyed" (nobody knows for sure) Bob, there were still obstacles that nobody understood. A woman without eyes and a man with green Hulk-like fists never got to be more than useful tertiary characters. While the traditional cast largely got their moments of fan service, they were rooted in upcoming frustrations, as characters entered new and baffling situations. The world remained largely insecure while Lynch and Frost almost didn't seem to care that their world now had enough questions to warrant two more seasons. But do they really need it? Nope.
The ending is in some ways the greatest joke about reboot culture. For those expecting after 25 years to have closure on the grander themes of the franchise, they would be mistaken. The introduction of alternative timelines that featured a confusing new geography of Twin Peaks now meant that people had to go back through and look for clues. The series ends with the question "What year is it?" as Laura screams in front of what should be her house but isn't. It's a jarring gesture, and one that creates a haunting confusion for its characters. Over the entire franchise, Cooper has been trying to solve the Laura Palmer case and, towards the end of The Return, bring her to safety. He failed, and that's part of the irony of his character. Much like reboots, having a satisfying end to Twin Peaks is impossible, if just because that's never been what the show was about. Even as the viewer is left wondering what the final moments mean, there's dozens upon dozens of incomplete subplots left open to interpretation. This is an abstract art parody of reboots, and it's also a great tribute to the weirdness that is Twin Peaks. In some ways, it's the perfect vision for what Lynch and Frost have been working towards all along. They just needed the freedom to be as weird, vulgar, and creative as they needed to be.
Overall Rating: 5 out of 5
The show was never about the destination. While the Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) mystery had a satisfying ending, its conclusion opened up more questions involving supernatural themes that The Return expanded upon. It made the whole idea of good versus evil into an almost universal experience, introducing new characters and scenarios that reflected a world outside of Twin Peaks. Even then, the show couldn't help but be antagonistic to its own fan base as Dale Cooper returned in multiple forms (six total), including the macho villain dubbed "Mr. C" by fans, and the infantile and innocent Dougie, the latter of which became a litmus test for fans who were eager to see THEIR Dale Cooper come back to life. Everything else seemed at place, but the lack of this one element made the show just not feel... right.
It is here that the Lynch commentary kicks into gear. Whereas the original run commented on the trivial and meandering nature of crime series past their prime, The Return was a commentary on reboot culture in general. With almost every show from the 90's getting their version of The Return, Twin Peaks seemed a bit obvious given its cult fandom. However, one aspect that Lynch and Frost understood was that rebooted shows don't often feel the same, even if the cast is the same. The characters have aged, and some have grown bitter and cynical, or rarely redemptive. They have become tertiary to their own universe. That's part of the magic of The Return. Even as everything looked familiar, it wasn't the same, and that was quite literal with Mr. C and Dougie, who were used far past fan's tolerance for them. Ironically, one could read it as a commentary on these type of shows in general outstaying their welcome.
However, the greatest moment in reboot satire came in the eighth episode. Where most franchises resort to lazy origin stories at some point, there's no denying that Lynch and Frost had an idea more bizarre. They didn't just give an origin for a character, they gave it for an all-encompassing evil. The original run featured evil in the form of "Bob," who inhabited people's bodies. What The Return presupposed was that Bob was born from a nuclear blast and eventually inhabited a gas station before entering the body of a man covered in grease who asked people for a light. It explains Bob, but does it explain anything about what the audience just saw? In some ways, Lynch and Frost's greatest attribution is their antagonism, refusing to make a single thing easy for audiences. They now know where Bob came from, but did it close any doors on the mystery that is Twin Peaks? Not even close.
In some ways, the show earned satisfaction in the final stretch as Dale Cooper returned to save the day, even if momentarily. It was then that the real story began to form. Even when Cooper returned to Twin Peaks and "destroyed" (nobody knows for sure) Bob, there were still obstacles that nobody understood. A woman without eyes and a man with green Hulk-like fists never got to be more than useful tertiary characters. While the traditional cast largely got their moments of fan service, they were rooted in upcoming frustrations, as characters entered new and baffling situations. The world remained largely insecure while Lynch and Frost almost didn't seem to care that their world now had enough questions to warrant two more seasons. But do they really need it? Nope.
The ending is in some ways the greatest joke about reboot culture. For those expecting after 25 years to have closure on the grander themes of the franchise, they would be mistaken. The introduction of alternative timelines that featured a confusing new geography of Twin Peaks now meant that people had to go back through and look for clues. The series ends with the question "What year is it?" as Laura screams in front of what should be her house but isn't. It's a jarring gesture, and one that creates a haunting confusion for its characters. Over the entire franchise, Cooper has been trying to solve the Laura Palmer case and, towards the end of The Return, bring her to safety. He failed, and that's part of the irony of his character. Much like reboots, having a satisfying end to Twin Peaks is impossible, if just because that's never been what the show was about. Even as the viewer is left wondering what the final moments mean, there's dozens upon dozens of incomplete subplots left open to interpretation. This is an abstract art parody of reboots, and it's also a great tribute to the weirdness that is Twin Peaks. In some ways, it's the perfect vision for what Lynch and Frost have been working towards all along. They just needed the freedom to be as weird, vulgar, and creative as they needed to be.
Overall Rating: 5 out of 5
Comments
Post a Comment