Monday, September 4, 2017

Negation Aspiration vol. 69


One of the reasons “Twin Peaks” is so persistently seductive is because it finds a way to inhabit American emptiness in a way few others can approach. Emptiness is a part of this country’s cultural heritage; driving through America, in “Twin Peaks,” feels as isolated and hair-raising as it might on a long stretch of two-lane highway through remote Texas. The gas station in the final episode is shrouded with darkness that looks ready to close in at a moment’s notice. Lynch’s art, at least part of it, injects meaning behind moments that would otherwise be stunning for their artifice. It’s like a reverse camp, and it’s especially apparent for any emphasis on Lee, who so thoroughly embodies his “Twin Peaks” aesthetic. The final hour of “Twin Peaks: The Return felt like it was the final stroke cutting through a shroud of illusion about America that the show has explored since the first episode. Underneath the artifice — the suggestions made by this soap operatic melodrama — is that endless, echoing scream.

‘Twin Peaks’ Finale Recap: The Story Ends — Forever? — With a Mystifying, Entrancing Finish

much like with the first 2hrs of this experience, i sat with my swirling thoughts and feelings for two days before attempting to articulate my reaction to the final two hours. 

what i loved about this 18 hour fever-film is innumerable to list, but i can say what i found most satisfying was how it existed as a casual affront to the entitlements of fandom. not adversarial towards all those demands, but insouciant to their hems and haws. the fan-fiction moments were expertly woven into the greater fabric of the universe as a fruitless attempt to disrupt and derail their inevitable consumption by the tar-blooded world eaters of encroaching psychological/biological armageddon  . 

Instead of a crowd-pleasing final curtain we were gifted with a meditative treatise on the ambient collapse left behind in the chasing of nostalgic correction. pristine memories become increasingly weathered from holding back their greasy collage-works of infinite nightmare, blood smeared across our dead faces until malignant orbs of cancerous wanting violently propel from a crowning postmortem incision, life but a dream that's been had by the non-existent.  

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