Cine-Trash

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (David Lynch, 1992)
by William Ham

Anybody remember 1990? You may wanna consult your grandparents on this, but there was a time when the flat face of the TV screen was going to be permanently disfigured by a certain weekly series, one that took the darkness-on-the-edge-of-Everytown vision of David (Blue Velvet) Lynch and brought it into America’s living rooms. A revolution was brewing and it smelled just like damn fine coffee. Need I say that the suburban surrealist uprising never happened? Dunno what it was – maybe it was never… seemed… to… get… solved… and when it finally did, only a handful of cultists only slightly cooler than the walking pocket protectors that frequent Star Trek conventions seemed to care. But Lynch still cared, so much so that as soon as his show meandered into the Black Lodge for good, he set right to work on his big-screen “prequel” that traces the events leading to doomed Homecoming Queen Laura Palmer’s bizarre demise. Unfortunately, there’s nothing sadder than a dead cult (and I’m not talking Branch Davidians here), and Fire Walk With Me does nothing to resurrect it. It’s a shapeless, amorphous mess, with loads of typically obtuse symbolism (Rhesus monkeys? Creamed corn? Oh, yeah, I get it), bored walk-throughs by semi-big-name stars, absolutely no suspense (if you’re watching this, you know who killed her already), and Sheryl Lee (as Laura) screaming. A lot. Lynch’s peculiar gift for finding the horror in the banal provides for a couple of good moments here, but otherwise, this is about as enticing as ossified cherry pie. Due is starting to look better and better.