Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992)

directed by David Lynch

Zay Vandelay

Friday rolls her eyes—like twin planets in orbit over an astral ring system that is her oncoming smile—before taking the donuts her dad left her outta the fridge and going to her bedroom. Friday’s room still doesn’t feel like she’s entirely moved in yet, but it’s just as evocative of her own fixations as the rest of the apartment is for her dad: there are string lights on the walls and glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, any Gunbuster collectibles she’s managed to swipe from eBay, plushies cover her bed as Keroppi the frog mingles with a McDonald’s Happy Meal Furby and one of those giant Jamaican bananas you can win at the boardwalk, there’s a banged-up 2007 Sony Handycam sitting on the bedside cabinet, itself filled with a collection of personal DVDs and VHSs from Jacques Rivette to Jackass, and a poster of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me watches over her bed as she starts watching YouTube videos.

I just did something I never felt like I’d do.

I just showed you a snippet from a script that I’ve been working on for over five years.

I say this not as some kinda elevator pitch or plea for constructive criticism or a desperate attempt to hamfistedly force my writing down your eye-throats by suckerpunching you with it at the start of a completely separate piece of writing about David Lynch’s 1992 film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (but hey—I mean—you’re here right now—probably thinking “they’re still fuckin’ talking?”).

I do all of this ‘cause…I had to get something—ANYTHING…out here.

Out [waves hands around head] here.

[I actually did that—like—I really did just throw my hands in the air with nobody around]

As of right now, I’ve “finished” my first big script, but even then, you’re probably already noticing those quotation marks, and especially if you’re a friend of mine who was told months ago—by me—that it was finished, only to have never actually received a copy and’re instead having to find this out now (I promise y’all I’ll send it—like—next week).

That’s because—even though it’s “finished”: it doesn’t really feel finished.

Which brings us back to Fire Walk with Me. One of my favorite movies ever from one of my favorite filmmakers ever. Somehow, someway, this initially-panned, booed at Cannes, prequel-sequel to a weird-ass TV show is one of the most hilarious, horrifying, and heartbreaking movies I’ve ever seen. And now, despite more praise in recent years, this thing wouldn’t’ve gotten anywhere at all without the endless determination of its creator.

Maybe determination isn’t the right word. Obsession, more like. And I don’t even mean that to deride the guy who once ate a pair of panties on camera.

David Lynch is OBSESSED with Laura Palmer.

Laura, of course, being the central figure at the heart of all Twin Peaks media: the star of Fire Walk with Me, the murdered (spoilers? I guess? The show came out 30 years ago, like, c’mon now) driving force behind the show, and the veritable golden goose behind what all makes the franchise so great.

Laura Palmer is—without question—David Lynch’s favorite character that he’s ever come up with. One of my favorite quotes from him—the one that inspired so much of what I’m writing at this very moment—goes:

“I’ve always loved Laura Palmer.”

That’s a fascinating way to describe a fictional character—especially one that you created: “love.” But also, it feels like the only word that’s accurate. We love characters, especially those in TV, because we’re afforded so much time to grow attached to them. Now, take that and multiply it by however many years of internal gestation and we may get a fraction of an idea of how Lynch feels about her.

This love for Laura inspires so much of the continuous spontaneity that makes Twin Peaks what it is. Sheryl Lee was just a local girl from Seattle brought on to shoot a few scenes as Laura and then stay dead, only to just so completely win over Lynch with her performance that he greatly expanded her role. Fire Walk with Me was made almost exclusively because Lynch wanted to further explore Laura as a character:

“I couldn’t get myself to leave the world of Twin Peaks. I was in love with the character of Laura Palmer and her contradictions: radiant on the surface but dying inside. I wanted to see her live, move, and talk.”

And it’s hard to blame Lynch: Laura’s an amazing character.

Fire Walk with Me is a lotta things. It’s weird even for Twin Peaks standards, even for Lynch standards, it’s a lot funnier than I think most people give it credit for, it has both amazing melodrama and genuine drama, and perhaps most affectingly, it’s the scariest film I’ve ever seen, one of the only films I’ve seen where I felt like the extent of the horror I’m watching is pushing me to my breaking point every single time.

And yet, at the center of it all is Laura, all of it works together because of Laura, even when she isn’t there. Just like in the series, her presence is so palpably felt: someone who simultaneously exudes such kindness yet has to wear so many masks all while expected to be so perfect, yet we as the audience are constantly made aware of her very human mistakes. It’s all the driving energy behind the entire movie—a teenager essentially being forced to suffer the weight of the entire world—both in gut wrenching singularity and that of the entire cosmos (if my script ever gets made into a movie then you’ll see the obvious inspiration).

That’s why it was so important for David Lynch to tell this story. Because it had to exist.

Sometimes, making a movie or show or book or game or anything isn’t necessarily about telling a story. I mean—it is—but what if you don’t know what story you wanna tell? What if that story can play out in an infinite multiverse of ways?

• A choose your own adventure game about jumping into inflatable pools into parallel dimensions of Florida where one of them is about you yourself playing the game?

• A slacker noir novel with Lovecraftian horror about ‘80s Garfield telephones washing up on a beach scored to the music of Albert Hammond Jr. of The Strokes?

• A coming of age concept album about a struggling laundromat where anything put into a weird washing machine comes out autographed by David Hasselhoff?

Sometimes it can all just be about coming up with a character—one that you eventually find yourself so attached to that telling their story becomes more about doing it for them rather than yourself.

And sometimes, you can get so obsessed with telling that story in the best way possible that you never even let yourself finish it.

But…I have to finish my movie eventually.

Somebody has to see it.

Every day can feel like this endless struggle—where I constantly feel like I’m outta place in this world—constantly aware of this inevitable end—if it’s not the heat death of the universe then it’s dying on the toilet—and it makes me wonder why I dedicate so much of my life to something that I won’t even show people. And even if I do…what will they think? I tell myself I do all of this ‘cause I wanna connect with people—I want ‘em to experience my character’s story ‘cause it’s one I just have to tell—maybe even so that they’ll understand me better—so that I have something that can still live in this world even after I’m gone, all the way up until everything’s gone.

But what happens…if none of that happens?

Is everything I’ve done really for nothing?

I choose to not believe that. I feel like I’ve finally gotten to a point where I just have to tell myself—“you’re doing this for you”—and if somebody connects to it, then great: ‘cause there’s gotta be someone, somewhere, someway that does.

It’s why I’ve always liked the phrase “big in Japan”—how, even if a work of art isn’t connected to in a way that you can immediately see—it might see a connection somewhere across the world.

David Lynch experienced this exact phenomenon.

The story goes that Fire Walk with Me was a surprise success in Japan, especially with women, supposedly because they deeply empathized with Laura’s life. 

And it sounds crazy, but I can’t even begin to describe how much I love that. Of course, the film has garnered a far larger audience of lovers now—deservedly so—but I just love the idea of this group of people somewhere on our little blue marble finding this film and relating to it: and Lynch could go his whole life without even knowing it ‘cause all he cared about was getting Laura’s story out into the world.

I can only hope it all happens for me someday.

Zay Vandelay is a writer, filmmaker, and rejected All That cast member from the Gulf Coast. They're finally wrapping up on their first feature-length film script so that they can get back to putting off more writing, hosting the infrequently updated "Get In My Car" podcast, and sleeping. They can be found on Letterboxd and Twitter @_cheesedip.