I was only five years old when Twin Peaks first aired in April of 1990. Needless to say, my parents got to enjoy the show without me as it aired way past my bedtime. It wasn’t until the summer of 2008, while I was stuck at home with my arm in a sling for two wonderful and strange weeks, that I first watched the series. Thanks to a recommendation from a neighbor and a fantastic local video rental store, I fell madly and deeply down the Twin Peaks rabbit hole. At times I wasn’t sure how much of Twin Peaks was just Twin Peaks, and how much was the prescription pain killers I was on. My little studio morphed into an owl cave while I took short breaks from my binge-watching to listen to the soundtrack on repeat. Was this reality, or some strange and twisted dream?
Something about the blend of comedy with morbidity, absurdity with tragedy, and terror with soap-opera-level drama spoke to me on a level that I never knew existed before. I remember the first time I saw the scene where Leland Palmer threw himself onto Laura’s descending coffin, causing the lift to malfunction and you hear an unknown man in the background shout, “The whole thing has gone haywire!” I laughed so hard that I had tears streaming down my face. Or was I actually crying, because it was all so tragic? I remember laughing and crying along with Audrey as she watched Leland have a dancing breakdown at The Great Northern. I remember holding my breath throughout the entire “reveal” scene in the second season, and sobbing when Señor Droolcup heartbreakingly said, “I am so sorry.” I remember feeling like I was in an uncannily familiar nightmare during the last episode as Dale tried to find his way out of the Red Room. I remember thinking, “It’s okay, there’s a sequel,” but then finishing Fire, Walk with Me with more questions, not a single answer, and a hole in my heart.
Promise you won’t report me, but I daydreamed for quite a while of kidnapping David Lynch and torturing him until he told me Coop’s fate. I would keep him in a dark room with a malfunctioning fluorescent light. And, I don’t know, hang a basket of tarantulas from a string tied to his teeth, or something. Until he told me everything. Of course, I could try to just leave it to my own imagination of how or if Coop escaped the black lodge, but I really could care less what my own poor brain could come up with. I had to know what Lynch imagined in his own beautiful brain for the potential season 3.
And now, here we are. I have been waiting for nine excruciating years for this, and I keep thinking that there are people who have waited nearly three times as long. I keep thinking about all the people who wanted more than anything to have some sort of conclusion to the season 2 cliffhanger but couldn’t survive the 26-year wait. And I keep thinking, I better not die before I get a chance to experience this. And yet I know, I know Mr. Lynch isn’t going to leave us feeling satisfied. That’s just not his style. Why give answers when you can give more questions? Why let us sleep easy at night? Why would he have the fan following he does if he didn’t cause us to tear our hair out in frustration trying to figure out what on earth he is doing to our brains?!
Anyway. I couldn’t be more excited for the return of Twin Peaks. And as much as I can’t picture how the technology of our era is going to fit into the 1950’s nostalgic feel of Twin Peaks, I am glad that I have the technology to connect with all you other Peakers, hear your own stories of initiation, and join in on the collective excitement of the unbelievable, dream-come-true fact that IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN.