I know I am probably the only writer in the U.S. who never saw Twin Peaks, which is so critically acclaimed as a television series that it's become legendary now. Anyway, when Netflix made the show available in June I made time to watch the pilot episode.
Well.
Okay, to be honest? That's and hour and a half of my life that I'd like to have back now, please. I can use the time to go watch the grass in the back yard grow, which would probably be more interesting.
A couple of disclaimers: I will never get David Lynch (the filmmaker who created the series) and his surrealistic approach to storytelling. He doesn't engage me; he just keeps getting weirder and more disjointed and nonsensical. His special quirks (which the critics adore) seem so stilted and artificial to me that I'm immediately and repeatedly thrown out of the story.
The eighties weren't like this. I was alive back then; I should write a book about the eighties. Anyway, if you want a stylized time capsule flick about that period of time and what it was like for young people, try Sixteen Candles or Pretty in Pink.
This boring and plodding to the point of putting me to sleep style of script writing and production isn't entertaining. It's boring and plodding.
I will now close the books on Twin Peaks forever. Adieu, yawn-inducing weirdness incarnate.
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