Having completed a full rewatch of S1, S2 and FWWM over the last few weeks, last night I commenced rewatching S3 afresh. So begins a revaluation of the whole of S3:
The stand-out moments to me are somewhat different now. Gerard's repeated line 'Is it future or is it past?' is, in both cases, spoken after a prolonged, half-smiling stare that reminds me of Mary's father's fixed smile in the chicken dinner scene of
Eraserhead: it's not quite as emphatic but is nonetheless a touch too long to be considered comfortably naturalistic. It adds a ton of unease to the red room scenes, particularly in its repeated form, which catches the viewer off-guard even when it's anticipated.
Dale's response to <whatever Laura whispers> is also more striking now, given that this moment is
(Scope = pt. 18)
Sam's mention of a predecessor who saw something in the glass cube, who wouldn't -- or couldn't -- say more puts me in mind of
(Scope = pts. 10 & 17)
The moody introduction of Mr. C and his rendezvous with Ray and Darya at Otis and Buella's cabin still delivers. The lunch scene in which he emphasises his lack of needs -- his lack of humanity one might say -- is still very powerful. His discovery of Darya and Ray's subterfuge and subsequent murder of Darya is if anything more brutal, shocking and sickening than it was on first watch: Mr. C is laid out here as an absolute evil with seemingly omniscient technology to hand. His murder of Phyllis Hastings is just as cold-blooded, with its dismissive incantation about humans inevitably following human nature
(Scope = pt.15)
Everything about Mr. C is laid out to highlight how powerfully inhuman he is, and his delivery towards humans is laced with misanthropic contempt. The way he massages Jack's jowls, as if feeling his teeth through the cheeks and enjoying the pulpy sensation of the flesh, prior to his (unshown) murder of the same, like his finger inspection of Chantal, suggests a deep disregard for human integrity, and the integrity of the human form. Yet, and in some sense because of this misanthropy, weaknesses are also shown: he appears not to anticipate Ray and Darya's betrayal of him, and seems genuinely angry about the discovery -- insofar as he can be angry. Nor can he apparently understand why Hasting's secretary will only share co-ordinates with Ray and not himself. And finally, in Darya's valedictory moments, he shows her the playing card that represents his motivation: as if only to a person whom he is about to kill will he reveal what is driving him and occupying him. He's more human than he realises -- and the ultimate secret about him must be that he abhors himself for this.
S3 was introduced by this two-parter with a darker, more violent tone than was anticipated by many. There's a lot of
Lost Highway atmosphere in here, particularly with the prolonged scenes of people sat on the sofa watching the cube, with an array of Mystery Man style security cameras whirring away. The first half in particular is very scopic, very thematically self-aware of the act of watching and the inherent anxieties of not knowing if one is being watched in turn. Although, near to the close of the second half we also witness, sat on a sofa watching 'animal life', Sarah Palmer. It could be reasoned that this is a case of the watcher being watched: almost a reciprocation of the first sofa-scene, in which the experiment showed up to witness Sam and Tracy getting involved in some animal life of their own.
These initial episodes/parts have not lost anything for knowing their place in the whole story (including the previous seasons and film); they are deeply mysterious and far away from Twin Peaks, even interspersed as they are with re-introductions of Twin Peaks staples Jacoby, Ben, Jerry, Shelly, James, Lucy, Andy, Hawk, the Log Lady, a Renault, Sarah Palmer, the Sheriff Station, the Great Northern, the Roadhouse and the Palmer house. The establishing shot of the Palmer house, steeped in darkness, is particularly dramatic on rewatch for reasons that viewers of part 18 will understand.
The exchange between Lucy and the Man In Suit insurance agent at the reception desk of the Sheriff Station acts as a kind of summary of everything to follow: a barrage of miscommunication, an ongoing, dream-like inability (on both parts) to get their point across. Here we have communication as a syrupy and stultifying struggle, a failure to communicate, which nonetheless affects some kind of exchange. Without having really communicated anything much verbally to each other in terms of their intentions, both participants nonetheless manage to kludge together a passing resolution to the problem of communion: a calling card is left. That physical deposit, like the left-overs of a battle no-one could ever win,
(Scope = pts 3-18)
The Chromatics 'Shadow' does two things: it shows that essentially, things are the same in Twin Peaks (Ruth Radelet has been styled very much as an updated Julee Cruise, complete with blue light, dreamy-but-impassive far away facial expressions, buttermilk make-up and a similar hairstyle) but also that the 1950s small-town vibe is very much diminished, and the Peaksian world is far more connected and less insular than it used to be. Whatever bubble it was living in has now burst, and the dark story at its core seems either to have spread and become generalised over the face of the earth, or has become imbricated in a general mysterious darkness that was always everywhere, but localised in subterranean underworld locations like the windowless New York tower, a Buckhorn apartment, or Buella's cabin.