Twin Peaks is back. And all the other dumb.
Twin Peaks, the masterpiece of television, David Lynch is back on the screens with incredible magnificence. And suddenly everything else pales by comparison.
The throw immediately in the storytelling, that says that does so much good to blogging, and this year goes to a casino:
Story number 1. It was the summer of 1991 (or 1992, who knows?), the nights were torrid as it is obvious that both in Sicily, air conditioners, and nothing, but on the contrary the shutters raised and the parents that took the cool on the balcony until midnight. On Tuesday evening at 22:30 (or was it Thursday?) aired reruns of Twin Peaks on who knows what channel mediaset. I was 13-14 years old and I was waiting for that moment in a quiet room, sweating like a cowboy into the house while everyone was out on the balcony, to shoot me of what I didn't realize to be a trip to the television colossal. Every goddamn Tuesday night (or Thursday) of that blessed summer.
Story number 2. Somewhere in the mid-2000s, I was able to get my hands on a burned dvd with all the 30 episodes of Twin Peaks. At the time I lived in the province of Rome, in a country forgotten by men and by gods, I was working too much and I had a social life zero. Every now and then we pecked with my old friend Angela, who also lived somewhere in the Lazio region, and it was made worse for me, and for the week-end there was a bit of company. The one time we locked ourselves away in the house and we shot the marathon of Twin Peaks was the I think one of the weekend's most psychedelic of our respective lives.
Story number 3. Today I spent an hour chatting with two friends, and our conversations were more or less on this tone: “No, you understood why he puts an empty box in a room and there is a guy who has to watch continuously, but that box is actually Twin Peaks, the television, and you're there, look at the empty box, and nothing happens, like that guy, and you keep looking at the empty box for a full bet, like that guy, and nothing happens, because what happens is that you look at the empty box. And he knows it. He saaaaa. He knows that if he puts an empty box, then people look at there and wait for something to happen!“
David Lynch is a genius, David Lynch is the madness, David Lynch is the greatest, ruthless, absurd, paraculo of our era television.
A man who, just because they are the beginnings, gives Eraserhead and the Elephant Man, you sing as if nothing was Blue Velvet and Lost highway, you down completely the american television with Twin Peaks, continues his run into the madness with the stuff of rabbits, with Mulholland Drive and that monster is unknowable Inland Empire (Billieeeeeee!), but that also, mind you, it shows you that if you want to make a normal movie like the other mere mortals can take to the seas in the face, The Straight Story, and hello, lots of greetings, he takes and brings home... and then after 25 years, back to Twin Peaks, and you square the masterpiece that is brain the final, well, that man really deserves a roar of applause is never-ending.
The new Twin Peaks would be a zozzeria in a thousand different ways, instead of Lynch, he co-wrote, directed and edited personally a reprise tribute to the fans of the two seasons of the original (yes as well of those robe undertone emerged in the 2nd season) and Fire walk with me, recalls the style and atmosphere of the original work with the persistent precision of a jesuit scribe of the Seventeenth century, omaggiandolo so much that the new season seems to be shot the day after with the actors mysteriously aged up to 25 years in the course of the night, but also puts us in the midst of a lot of other irons in the fire.
And if, originally, the product was strongly constrained by the needs of television broadcasting and production, now, after 25 years of triumphs and undeniable success, someone has given Lynch the total, unconditional power of his own work, allowing him to achieve what he wanted, and that is what his fans wanted from a long time: TWELVE HOURS in a row OF RED CURTAINS, TRIP, MENTAL, RECITATIONS QUESTIONABLE, SURREAL ATMOSPHERE AND KITSCH, SCENES of nonsensical STORIES AND ACCOUNTS TOLD IN DISTORTION WITH THE REALITY.
Lynch had 11 years to mull over on this stuff, by the time Inland Empire, has put in field all the old actors of the series (those who survived, at least), more stuff like 180 guest star, drew back Angelo Badalamenti, and the old “Laura Palmer”, has enlisted a harvest of stars and the old knowledge and it is placed back inside the story, with his classic role of Gordon Cole.
Never interested to please or to compromise with the public or the production, this geezer cursed more than 70-years, theoretically retired ten years ago from the cinema, is giving us now a masterpiece of twelve hours of madness, the surreal and aesthetic consideration.
And all the other dumb.
The ask: “But what is the meaning of this series? What want to convey?”
Answer: “Everyone will see in the series what it wants”
In a way, that the you say?
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