Skip to main content

I want no interference from this hulking boob, is that clear?

Twin Peaks
1.4: Rest in Pain

Another damn fine episode, and one with neither Frost nor Lynch credited in writing or directing. Harley Peyton was a producer on Twin Peaks, and would script no less than 14 episodes (including uncredited work on 1.3). He wrote screenplays for Less than Zero and Heaven’s Prisoners, and most recently was attached to the still born Jonathan Rhys Myers Dracula show. Tina Rathborne directed (and returned for season two) but has done nothing since.


Sheriff Truman: Who killed Laura Palmer?

It will be interesting to note which Season Two episodes Peyton penned, as here he takes to Lynch and Frost’s characters and scenarios like a duck to water. There may not be anything as profoundly odd as Lynch would come up with, but in terms of humour Peyton is completely on the ball. It is interesting how literally he transcribes the last 20 minutes of the European version of the pilot into Coop’s dream, however (right down to the 25 years later, and Mike and Bob in the hospital basement); Coop evidently experienced it in its entirety, even the really boring bits with Harry and Lucy. So I guess my comments about the extended version TV movie not being canon are remiss, as long as you see that version as being a leap into Coop’s 1.3 dream.


Agent Cooper: Harry, let me tell you about the dream I had last night.
Sheriff Truman: Tibet?
Agent Cooper: No.

Despite having called Harry at the end of the last episode to proclaim he knew who killed Laura, now Coop says he cannot remember the name dream Laura whispered in his ear (Harry and Lucy successively recite “Damn” in response). It’s a bit of a cheek, but quite funny too, that Lynch and co should mislead the audience so outrageously. Coop believes the subconscious to contain all the necessary answers, much as with his milk bottle deduction last week (“Break the code, solve the crime”).


As far as solving that crime is concerned, we move a little further forward, but not a lot. Coop’s dream is validated by Albert explaining she was tied up twice on the night of her murder (“Sometimes my arms bend back”) and we learn that she had yet another impossible job to juggle; like Ronette Pulaski, she worked at the perfume counter at Horne’s Department Store.


Agent Cooper: Leo. Is that short for Leonard?
Leo Johnson: That’s a question?

The two prime milk bottle suspects are visited. Leo is predictably unforthcoming, denying that he knew Laura (“You’re lying” responds Coop directly). Jacobi (wearing a cape!) is interviewed by Coop at the post-funeral graveside. He testifies that Laura reached his heart in a manner he thought impossible, which doesn’t exactly exonerate him, but puts him in a more sympathetic light than before.


Agent Cooper: A secret society.

The reveal of the Bookhouse Boys is a little on the lame side, to be honest. There’s a good idea here, one that contributes substantially to the show’s mythos, but they’re entirely unconvincing upholders of the faith. Harry first appears as a straight-edger, yet now he’s talking earnestly about great evil. Dependable Ed too, and dullard James. These aren’t the types to have any insight into the darkness, although I guess that may be why they take such a blundering approach (kidnapping Bernard Renault, played by Clay Wilcox). A name like the Bookhouse Boys is on the Neanderthal side. Let’s not forget Joey Paulson (Brett Vadset) either, there to make up the numbers (he will appear one more time).


Sheriff Truman: Twin Peaks is different, a long way from the world. You’ve noticed that. That’s exactly the way we like it. But there’s a… backend to that that’s kind of different too. Maybe that’s the price we pay for all the good things. There’s a sort of evil out there. Something very, very strange in these old woods. Call it what you want. A darkness, a presence. It takes many forms, but… It’s been out there as long as anyone can remember, and we’ve always here to fight it.

It very nearly cheapens the effect, having Harry deliver this arcane knowledge. The idea that there’s a price to be paid for the upside is an engaging one, a form of dualism, but the matter-of-fact translation into having a pop at Bernard isn’t nearly as engaging. It’s nebulous, of course (what exactly is so remarkable about Twin Peaks’ upside, aside from being a garden of eccentrics?)


The series’ occult aspects are essential to its abiding status. They imbue its sense of mystery and the unknowable, in much the same way as Lost later attempted (and fumbled) with its poles of light and dark. There will be much talk of (masonic) lodges, secret brotherhoods (the Bookhouse Boys), and owls (a masonic symbol) not being what they seem. This interest in secret societies may principally come from Frost, rather than Lynch, but it adds an undercurrent that, with the ritualised abuse posits a post-Blue Velvet malignancy beneath the innocuous surface, a world of ancient and opposing forces at work. Such themes coalesce in some of the more extreme conspiratorial whisperings that have followed the Savile case, and Twin Peaks, to some (33rd?) degree reflects that power and depravity are deeply entwined.


Deputy Hawk is also one of the Bookhouse Boys. Being a Native American, it’s necessary to indulge the wise Indian stereotype. This means he’s the only local (besides the Log Lady) to whom Coop defers.  The final scene is nicely edited, with Leland experiencing another jazz-infused dancehall disintegration (“Dance with me, please!”) while Coop and Hawk philosophise. Hawk espouses a Blackfoot legend about dream souls who wander “Far away paces. The land of the dead”. It might have been more fitting for a show as off kilter as Twin Peaks to subvert the noble Native American (he’s the best tracker too!), to turn Hawk into a Polonius figure spouting nonsense masquerading as wisdom. It does serve to the series’ zeitgeisty credentials, though. It was during its airing that Dances with Wolves won the Best Picture Oscar.


The central event of 1.4 is Laura’s funeral, which inspires a predictable face-off between James and Bobby. Bobby indulges a particularly petulant teenage rant (“Everybody knew she was in trouble but we didn’t do anything!”), having earlier warned his military father (Don Davis perfectly capturing the starchy military manner, unable to be that dad that’s needed despite having read all the books on teenage psychology) he would disrupt the ceremony. The two Laura suitors nearly come to blows in an effective slow motion charge, slowed vocals adding to the effect.


Johnny Horne proclaims “AMEN!” but the highlight is another bout of Leland limelight hogging. He topples atop Laura’s coffin, his weight causing the lifting crane to stutter and whirr. He rises up and down, weeping, as Sarah pleads “Don’t ruin this too!” Lynch couldn’t have accentuated the absurdity better himself.


Twin Peaks also manifests a much-loves soap device of the desperate soap; the doppleganger, in order to allow Sheryl Lee to return in a living, breathing role. Maddy is the actual embodiment of the impossibly wholesome girl, the contrast to Laura. She’s mousy and demur, but emotionally giving. Lee hides behind huge glasses, and its almost as if Lynch and Frost had been inspired watching Plain Jane Super Brain in Neighbours (not that this character type is uncommon).


Any business with Harry and Josie and, unfortunately, Catherine (the series is a bit of a waster of Piper Laurie, really, as hers is such a one-note part), is a bit empty, really, but fortunately that’s in short supply here.


Agent Cooper: What I want to know is why in the world you would tell us where and when to find him.

Coop is on good form, although he’s eclipsed by the episode’s star turn, of which more momentarily. He’s still beguiled by the wonders of nature (“It’s an absolutely beautiful morning!”;“Look at that! Ducks on a lake”) and the town in general (he’s looking at Pension plan options with a view to buying). His deductive skills are foremost (“Big Ed, how long have you been in love with Nadine?”) and he susses that they are unlikely to avail themselves of a meeting with Jacques Renault (Walter Olkewicz). He also identifies Audrey as the one who wrote him the Jack with One Eye note.


Ah yes, Audrey. Cooper leads a scarlet blouse-clad Audrey on (“That perfume you’re wearing is incredible”) and then seems to possibly backtrack (“Audrey, that rightward slant in your handwriting indicates a romantic nature. A hear that yearns. Be careful”, to which she responds sincerely, and maritally, “I do”). Later there’s more of Audrey snooping, this time wearing fetching funereal black, as she eavesdrops through a priest hole on the Horn family preparations (Jacobi encouraging Johnny to remove his headdress; I could readily imagine Bruce Campbell playing Johnny).


Albert: Sounds like you’ve been snacking on some of the local mushrooms.

Coop’s engagement with Twin Peaks (he delivers a paean to the decency, honour and dignity of the people of the town, where life has meaning, every life) receives short shrift from Albert. Ferrer’s performance and dialogue are a sheer delight. While it’s good to know Coop can put him in his place, once again we applaud the forensics expert for his insults and casually caustic approach.


Albert: Dr Hayward, I have travelled thousands of miles and apparently several centuries to this forgotten sinkhole to perform a series of tests.

We first see him battling in the morgue with Dr Hayward for rights over Laura’s corpse. His every line is an explosion of scorn (“I’ve got compassion running out of my nose, pal. I’m the sultan of sentiment”) and Ferrer’s little touches (the two toots on the drill prior to entering Laura’s cranium; “I’ve got a lot of cutting and pasting to do, gentlemen”) are genius.


He also thoroughly destroys Benjamin Horne, accusing him of venality, insincerity, and a rather irritating method of expressing himself. It takes some doing to push MacLachlan to the side-lines, but Ferrer achieves it (“Cooper, this old fool is obstructing an investigation. Cuff him!”) MacLachlan has to content himself with calm remonstration in the face of Albert’s demands for disciplinary action (“He hit me”; “Well, I’m sure he meant to do that”).


Albert: And you, you chowder head yokel, you blithering hayseed, you’ve had enough of me?

Best of all is Round Two with Sheriff Truman. Rather than being put in his place by Harry’s words the previous episode, they have only served to rouse Albert’s ire further (“I want no interference from this hulking boob, is that clear?”) Even when Harry resorts to physical retorts, it does nothing to dampen Albert’s overt contempt (“That old rustic sucker punch, eh?”) Indeed, his last line insult, during his announcement of the autopsy results, is the biggest zinger. Harry formulates a theory based on the presented facts and Albert throws back smugly “Look, it’s trying to think”.


Sheriff Truman: How would you like a fresh slice of huckleberry pie?
Agent Cooper: I would love a slice of pie.

So this is another first class instalment, one that even makes time for the all-important food. As per usual thus far, the episode starts with a meal. This time it’s breakfast involving coffee and griddle cakes (“Nothing beats the taste sensation when maple syrup collides with ham”). Later, Pie Watch goes to the next level as Coop tries some huckleberry pie (“This must be where pies go when they die”).







Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Who’s got the Figgy Port?

Loki (2021) (SPOILERS) Can something be of redeemable value and shot through with woke (the answer is: Mad Max: Fury Road )? The two attributes certainly sound essentially irreconcilable, and Loki ’s tendencies – obviously, with new improved super-progressive Kevin Feige touting Disney’s uber-agenda – undeniably get in the way of what might have been a top-tier MCU entry from realising its full potential. But there are nevertheless solid bursts of highly engaging storytelling in the mix here, for all its less cherishable motivations. It also boasts an effortlessly commanding lead performance from Tom Hiddleston; that alone puts Loki head and shoulders above the other limited series thus far.

As in the hokey kids’ show guy?

A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood (2019) (SPOILERS) I don’t think Mr Rogers could have been any creepier had Kevin Spacey played him. It isn’t just the baggage Tom Hanks brings, and whether or not he’s the adrenochrome lord to the stars and/or in Guantanamo and/or dead and/or going to make a perfectly dreadful Colonel Tom Parker and an equally awful Geppetto; it’s that his performance is so constipated and mannered an imitation of Mr Rogers’ genuineness that this “biopic” takes on a fundamentally sinister turn. His every scene with a youngster isn’t so much exuding benevolent empathy as suggestive of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang ’s Child Catcher let loose in a TV studio (and again, this bodes well for Geppetto). Extend that to A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood ’s conceit, that Mr Rogers’ life is one of a sociopathic shrink milking angst from his victims/patients in order to get some kind of satiating high – a bit like a rejuvenating drug, on that score – and you have a deeply unsettli

It’ll be like living in the top drawer of a glass box.

Someone’s Watching Me! (1978) (SPOILERS) The first of a pair of TV movies John Carpenter directed in the 1970s, but Someone’s Watching Me! is more affiliated, in genre terms, to his breakout hit ( Halloween ) and reasonably successful writing job ( The Eyes of Laura Mars ) of the same year than the also-small-screen Elvis . Carpenter wrote a slew of gun-for-hire scripts during this period – some of which went on to see the twilight of day during the 1990s – so directing Someone’s Watching Me! was not a given. It’s well-enough made and has its moments of suspense, but you sorely miss a signature Carpenter theme – it was by Harry Sukman, his penultimate work, the final being Salem’s Lot – and it really does feel very TV movie-ish.

What's a movie star need a rocket for anyway?

The Rocketeer (1991) (SPOILERS) The Rocketeer has a fantastic poster. One of the best of the last thirty years (and while that may seem like faint praise, what with poster design being a dying art – I’m looking at you Marvel, or Amazon and the recent The Tomorrow War – it isn’t meant to be). The movie itself, however, tends towards stodge. Unremarkable pictures with a wide/cult fanbase, conditioned by childhood nostalgia, are ten-a-penny – Willow for example – and in this case, there was also a reasonably warm critical reception. But such an embrace can’t alter that Joe Johnston makes an inveterately bland, tepid movie director. His “feel” for period here got him The First Avenger: Captain America gig, a bland, tepid movie tending towards stodge. So at least he’s consistent.

You nicknamed my daughter after the Loch Ness Monster?

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2 (2012) The final finale of the Twilight saga, in which pig-boy Jacob tells Bella that, “No, it's not like that at all!” after she accuses him of being a paedo. But then she comes around to his viewpoint, doubtless displaying the kind of denial many parents did who let their kids spend time with Jimmy Savile or Gary Glitter during the ‘70s. It's lucky little Renesmee will be an adult by the age of seven, right? Right... Jacob even jokes that he should start calling Edward, “Dad”. And all the while they smile and smile.

Here’s Bloody Justice for you.

Laughter in Paradise (1951) (SPOILERS) The beginning of a comedic run for director-producer Mario Zampa that spanned much of the 1950s, invariably aided by writers Michael Pertwee and Jack Davies (the latter went on to pen a spate of Norman Wisdom pictures including The Early Bird , and also comedy rally classic Monte Carlo or Bust! ) As usual with these Pertwee jaunts, Laughter in Paradise boasts a sparky premise – renowned practical joker bequeaths a fortune to four relatives, on condition they complete selected tasks that tickle him – and more than enough resultant situational humour.

I'm offering you a half-share in the universe.

Doctor Who Season 8 – Worst to Best I’m not sure I’d watched Season Eight chronologically before. While I have no hesitation in placing it as the second-best Pertwee season, based on its stories, I’m not sure it pays the same dividends watched as a unit. Simply, there’s too much Master, even as Roger Delgado never gets boring to watch and the stories themselves offer sufficient variety. His presence, turning up like clockwork, is inevitably repetitive. There were no particular revelatory reassessments resulting from this visit, then, except that, taken together – and as The Directing Route extra on the Blu-ray set highlights – it’s often much more visually inventive than what would follow. And that Michael Ferguson should probably have been on permanent attachment throughout this era.

Somewhere out there is a lady who I think will never be a nun.

The Sound of Music (1965) (SPOILERS) One of the most successful movies ever made – and the most successful musical – The Sound of Music has earned probably quite enough unfiltered adulation over the years to drown out the dissenting voices, those that denounce it as an inveterately saccharine, hollow confection warranting no truck. It’s certainly true that there are impossibly nice and wholesome elements here, from Julie Andrews’ career-dooming stereotype governess to the seven sonorous children more than willing to dress up in old curtains and join her gallivanting troupe. Whether the consequence is something insidious in its infectious spirit is debatable, but I’ll admit that it manages to ensnare me. I don’t think I’d seen the movie in its entirety since I was a kid, and maybe that formativeness is a key brainwashing facet of its appeal, but it retains its essential lustre just the same.

I’m just glad Will Smith isn’t alive to see this.

The Tomorrow War (2021) (SPOILERS). Not so much tomorrow as yesterday. There’s a strong sense of déjà vu watching The Tomorrow War , so doggedly derivative is it of every time-travel/alien war/apocalyptic sci-fi movie of the past forty years. Not helping it stand out from the pack are doughy lead Chris Pratt, damned to look forever on the beefy side no matter how ripped he is and lacking the chops or gravitas for straight roles, and debut live-action director Chris McKay, who manages to deliver the goods in a serviceably anonymous fashion.

Damn prairie dog burrow!

Tremors (1990) (SPOILERS) I suspect the reason the horror comedy – or the sci-fi comedy, come to that – doesn’t tend to be the slam-dunk goldmine many assume it must be, is because it takes a certain sensibility to do it right. Everyone isn’t a Joe Dante or Sam Raimi, or a John Landis, John Carpenter, Edgar Wright, Christopher Landon or even a Peter Jackson or Tim Burton, and the genre is littered with financial failures, some of them very good failures (and a good number of them from the names mentioned). Tremors was one, only proving a hit on video (hence six sequels at last count). It also failed to make Ron Underwood a directing legend.