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It is happening again: It’s Showtime for Twin Peaks, and we should be excited

October 20, 2014

Laura Palmer

David Lynch and Mark Frost announced recently that Twin Peaks will be returning as a nine-episode series on Showtime in 2016.

My immediate response was: this is a great thing. In the widening gap since the release of Inland Empire I’d been wondering whether I’d be lucky enough to see anything new from Lynch on-screen, and now I will, as he’ll be directing all nine episodes of the Showtime series. It’s easy to take for granted outstanding artists working among us – mark this, because we will be watching the end of one of the great Hollywood (though not-really-Hollywood, and all the more about Hollywood because of it) careers.

There’s also a bit of fairytale to the return of this show in particular. The sense of loss and longing around Twin Peaks has always seemed hopeless and wistful against the implacability of studios and networks, ever since the days when the show was buffeted ominously about the late-night TV schedules by ABC. But now that feeling has not only been recognised, but alleviated. There is something odd and human in the way that certain precious, imperfect cultural objects, impractical in their own time, gradually accumulate value through their absence – a swelling reservoir of that loss and longing – until making them real again suddenly seems like the obvious thing to do. It’s almost an act of collective forgiveness – like Alvin’s journey to reconcile with his brother in Lynch’s The Straight Story, it’s about the truth that wanting to be together again while we still can is more important than the details of why things didn’t work in the past.

Although obviously I – and lots of people who love Twin Peaks – do care about why things didn’t work in the past. And that’s why the best news about the new series, as far as I’m concerned, is where and how it’s being made.

Lynch has always had a tumultuous relationship with television, both as a format and as an industry. I recently wrote about this relationship, and how the line from Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (“one chants out between two worlds”) seems to

…catch something of Lynch himself, and his career-long oscillation between cinema and television. I thought of how Blue Velvet pre-figured Twin Peaks, how Mulholland Dr was planned as another ABC series and then warped and wrangled into a prismatic self-contained cinematic whole. His career comes packaged with a sense of contortion.

You get a sense of this contortion in the way Lynch has spoken about television in the past. Even when making Twin Peaks, he was scornful of the medium in relation to cinema:

The power of most movies is in the bigness of the image and the sound and the romance. On TV the sound suffers and the impact suffers. With just a flick of the eye or turn of the head, you see the TV stand, you see the rug, you see some little piece of paper with writing on it, or a strange toaster or something. You’re out of the picture in a second. In a theater, when the screen is big and the sound is right, a movie is very powerful even if it stinks.

On the recent Twin Peaks Blu-ray set, though, there’s evidence that Lynch’s position has softened. In one of the extras included in the set Grace Zabriskie suggests that there’s “something to be said for home viewing.” Lynch agrees:

If they get good sound systems and big screens, it could be pretty good. Shut everything off, get your bag of popcorn, and get into it

Note that Lynch hasn’t budged on the things that make a good viewing experience, and rather he addresses them – sound, image, distraction – point by point. But he does recognise that the technological improvements made since Twin Peaks was broadcast mean it’s now possible to recreate that experience outside the theatre.

And this is the point – television has changed, both the form, and the industry. The new Twin Peaks will be on Showtime, a cable channel that’s as far removed from network television in 1991 as your 46-inch plasma is away from the glowing, rattling boxes crammed into the living rooms of the last century. Thanks to The Sopranos, thanks to a shifting marketplace, thanks to the way audiences watch television now and what we expect from it, cable – not just HBO but FX, AMC, and Showtime – has attracted and fostered an extraordinary creative community, synonymous with quality storytelling and long-form filmmaking.

It’s tempting to see cable as a natural home for Lynch, a third place between television and cinema, a place that combines the possibilities of continuing storylines which he finds so intriguing with the power and elegance of cinema, a place where he can stop oscillating and contorting and let his ideas take shape. And here’s a thing – Lynch has actually worked on cable before, with a mini-series called Hotel Room on HBO – before it was HBO – back in 1993. The wonderful opening sequence featured these lines, spoken by Lynch

For a millennium the space for the hotel room existed – undefined. Mankind captured it, gave it shape, and passed through. And sometimes when passing through, they found themselves brushing up against the secret names of truth.

This might be my favourite idea in all of Lynch’s work – the industriousness of construction, of snaring a space in mid-air to become a stage for the significances that pass between people – but here it’s particularly meaningful, as I hope that Showtime can be that place, that hotel room, that Lynch can once more pass through.

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