I’m still digesting what I saw last night; I will probably be digesting what I saw last night for a long, time time. I’m deeply shaken in a way that feels both frightening and wondrous. In a day and age where we’re hypersaturated with “content” every waking moment, it’s become increasingly rare for a work of imagination to completely take hold of me and really change the way I experience life. Twin Peaks: The Return has certainly done it though.
This much has still not changed after 25 years: I’ll journey down whichever lost highway David Lynch chooses to take. Yet, I kind of hope there isn’t any more Twin Peaks forthcoming. Either Lynch will create something new, or this was his magnum opus and he’ll retire. You know what the last half of Part 18 reminds me of? The last few moments of Buñuel’s That Obscure Object of Desire. Mathieu and Conchita watch through a store window as a woman sews, mending a dirty and torn garment. He says something to her and she reacts, angrily, but we can’t hear them. They walk away and then a terrorist bomb goes off. Apparently killing them? The End. Buñuel could have made another film, he lived several more years, but he didn’t. I think he knew it would be his last. Perhaps wanted itto be. Maybe Lynch feels the same way. Or, just maybe, he has more stories to tell. In any case, Twin Peaks: The Return … what a beautiful, extraordinary enigma.