“Chug-a-lug Donna”

Dance with the Devil through eternal torment. Moving to the peak of actualities impermanence, into the otherworld and becoming one with it all. Forever falling. Wandering within a serenely misty objective absent-mindedness. Indifferently comatose to concupiscences propensity. Embodying caliginosity and wreathed in its albatross. One strut or sway from hellfire. A song you want so desperately to end. Yet its dark echoes and unparagoned inflections do anything but magnify, aggrandize the blistering pierces into your mind. Lightning charged trance producing bloodcurdling imagery and substance evoking the most primitive of despair, making my heart bleed for Laura Palmer.

Sheryl Lee lays down what is perhaps my favorite female performance of all-time if not surely amongst the best. The Pink Room sequence without giving any spoilers is everything I could one day aspire to create. Infernal poetry. And Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me is just that, the cinematic vision where I find Lynch to be the most at home, and me as well. Within all of us is the aptness for corruption and no other film breathes this mentality quite like this. Hyper-realizing the show’s genre tropes it becomes exactly what any die-hard of the series would come to expect, exceeding it in ways however by expanding upon the televisual structure through an even more strange, confident and artistically harmonious dichotomy that film allows. Questions aren’t answered, collapsing further into the eclipse of enigma. So if anyone is going into Season 3 expecting resolutions and explanations of such capacity, well, I wouldn’t hold your breath.