The End of Twin Peaks Feels Like a Bitter Breakup

What does this mean? Whatever.

I’m disappointed and I’m mad. I’m mad that I’m disappointed. I started writing this reaction to the end of Twin Peaks: The Return the day after it aired. I’ve deleted it and restarted it three times. It has taken time to find the right words to express my profound disappointment over not just the end of the new season (and probably the show, period), but also the continuation as a whole which was only punctuated by a surreal, non-ending ending.

I love (loved? We’ll see) Twin Peaks. When I discovered it in college 12 years ago, it was like I made an amazing discovery. An unearthed surprise from the past that struck all the right chords with me. It was scary, it was funny, it was strange and so much more and most of all it was unapologetic about those things. It was a show that gave me all of the things I loved most about my favorite shows at the time like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Lost, The X-Files. Larger than life, complicated characters, action, supernatural/unearthly situations, and writing that showed the creators respected the audience’s intelligence. The follow-up movie, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, was a stark change from the series but it still dialed up a dark, yet strangely emotional story in spite of the uncomfortable material.

But that was twenty-five years ago. The series ended just about every main story-line with a painful cliffhanger that suspended many of our favorite characters in situations that put them in peril, questioned their survival, created emotional turmoil in their lives, or, in the case of main character, Dale Cooper, raised existential questions about his fate as he appeared to be possessed by series villain, BOB, a malevolent entity responsible for murder and depravity in town. The movie didn’t bother to address these questions and turned in a prequel about (mostly…) the death of (seeming!) series macguffin, Laura Palmer. A few minor story points indicated vague details about Dale Cooper’s fate, but for the most part, FWWM, was its own thing. Written by series creator, David Lynch, without co-creator, Mark Frost, it was a prequel spin-off with a different feel and treatment of the material as well as elements that, maddeningly, called into question mythology the series had developed throughout its run. But it was over. The series was cancelled, no one was interested in funding new movies so, it was what it was.

When the new series was announced with both Lynch and Frost at the helm, I was ecstatic. For one, how many shows get a second chance to finish their stories twenty-five years after cancellation? Two, there would finally be some resolution to the ambiguity of the series ending. Three, with Lynch and Frost involved the new series would hopefully be more akin to the series or at least a new thing rather than the dark surrealism of the movie, sans Frost.

Unfortunately, David Lynch (and Frost?) wasn’t interested in any of those things. Twin Peaks: The Return provided little resolution to the open questions from the series’ cancellation, in several circumstances it excluded characters from the original run, and posed a host of new questions it had no interest in answering. Glaringly, most insulting, Twin Peaks: The Return reframes the story we thought we were watching to be about something else and calling the whole affair into question.

The iconic, brilliant pilot of Twin Peaks tells the story of what happens when beautiful, loved-by-all, prom queen Laura Palmer is found dead in a, seemingly, sleepy pacific northwest town. But everyone in Twin Peaks has a secret. Whether it’s hotel entrepreneur, Ben Horne, scheming to obtain the local sawmill so he can build a housing development, blue-collar Ed Hurley and diner owner Norma Jennings sneaking around behind their spouses’ backs to keep the flame alive on their 20-year-old romance, Laura Palmer’s boyfriend Bobby Briggs selling drugs and working for local crime thug Leo Johnson, or any host of other seedy plots, Twin Peaks was an exploration of the dark underbelly of small town America and unspoken malevolence in suburbia. Into this web of murder, drugs, and lies comes Special Agent Dale Cooper to investigate Laura Palmer’s murder as the latest murder with the mark of a killer seen first in the southwest part of Washington a year earlier. Young, handsome, loquacious, and slightly off, Cooper is seemingly a paragon of virtue, but he, too, has secrets.

Over the course of two seasons, Twin Peaks embeds Cooper deeper and deeper into the town and the mysterious woods outside of the town where the “strange old woods” have more than just a spooky mood. But the character of the town was a real and present thing and it was a special place outside the hustle and bustle of the busy world with larger than life stakes.

I should have been prepared for Twin Peaks: The Return because Fire Walk With Me was a stunning departure from the humanity of the series. I refer to FWWM as a spin-off more than a prequel or continuation of the series because it was centered mostly on the last days of Laura Palmer’s life.

The parts of FWWM that weren’t centered on Laura told the muddled back story of the murder of the first girl killed by Laura’s assailant and the FBI agents who investigated. Consider it a prototype for the kind of mood and storytelling The Return would practice. Characters behaved strangely and rarely spoke like people. Scenes smashed from one frame to another. And the supernatural elements the series explored with whimsy and stark horror were dealt with in FWWM as confusing dead-end jumbles. Series hero Dale Cooper appears first in a confusing, glorified cameo effectively retconning the character’s pre-Laura past (co-starring David Bowie as a character named Phillip Jeffries who does little more than confound). Cooper appears later in short vignettes in the red curtained Black Lodge where he has been trapped since the series end, yet time, apparently, is a murky thing in that realm which is why we see this in the context of Laura’s final days. But no real resolution is given to his post-series fate other than to clarify that Cooper wasn’t possessed in the show’s final moments but rather replaced by his malevolent doppelgänger. Even better!

Regardless of the fantastical fate befalling Agent Cooper, the story of Twin Peaks was about a small town reeling from Laura Palmer’s death and about the gateway, figurative and literal, to Hell it opened. FWWM opened the door to a broader story about the elements at the play in Twin Peaks, but in context as a prequel, our show characters were on the trail of these elements already.

In Twin Peaks: The Return, however, Lynch and Frost have decided the story wasn’t really about the dark underbelly of a small town where malevolent forces were at play or the reaction of a small town to the death of a beloved, troubled girl, no the town of Twin Peaks is merely a footnote in a broad pastiche of strange, seedy characters all over the country (and world!) and there are aliens, the nuclear age birthed the personification of evil, and, oh yeah, Laura Palmer is really an intergalactic (interdimensional?) Chosen One (?) sent to us to destroy (?) evil. And if that weren’t bad enough, we learn all of this through the most dispassionate and detached mode of storytelling possible. The characters of Twin Peaks: The Return are stripped of all humanity and the story, such as it is, is propelled forward by nothing and no one until the final 2 parts of the 18-hour season.

My theory about how and why this happened is about fundamentals of storytelling vs. art. David Lynch describes himself first, and foremost, as an artist. He’s less concerned with coherent narrative than he is with the artful fusion of pictures, words, sounds, and music. This has made for some of the boldest and beautiful cinema in the last 40 years. So, while there are other visionary directors and writers out there who tell stories in unconventional, but artful ways, they still adhere to the logic and basics of telling a story. Lynch does not want to do that. His ardent fans say that’s brilliant. I say that’s bold and, maybe creative, but it makes him an awful storyteller. And it disappointed me so deeply, so completely on September 3rd, 2017 that I’ve barely been able to speak about it since.

The world, characters, and story I’ve loved for 12+ years are gone from me. I can’t imagine trying to rewatch the show from the beginning without the whole experience being tarnished by the new season and the “ending” which denied any kind of closure to the story in favor of a nebulous, non-ending that served to confuse not with bold, challenging material, but by willfully withholding information needed to understand it.

I feel like an outcast from my own fan community. The usual stable of Lynch sycophants are praising what he delivered as “genius” and “visionary.” And I think, really, they just don’t want to admit they have no idea what they saw and are attributing meaning to it that makes them feel better. They don’t dare criticize a single story point that was ignored or a payoff forgotten or wasted. For some reason, with David Lynch, unlike any other filmmaker, writer, or actor he cannot be criticized. It cannot be tolerated. Martin Scorsese can be imperfect, Stephen Spielberg can turn in a formulaic stinker, but David Lynch is an artist and a genius and if you do not like his work, you just don’t get it.

The whole enterprise wasn’t a total disaster; there were a few wonderful performances worth praise in spite of the whole. Kyle MacLachlan’s turn as “Mr. C,” Agent Cooper’s evil doppelgänger was a dark, driven force unlike any character he’s ever played. Juxtaposed against the empty shell of one of his other 3 roles, Dougie Jones, he’s proven how effective his expression alone can convey a performance. What little we saw of the gallant Agent Cooper was like he’d never stopped playing the role. I might have liked more pathos in light of playing a man who lost 25 years of his life, but given his limited role it makes it somewhat worth it that he was a man of propellant action.

Harry Dean Stanton (RIP) had a bare semblance of a role in returning character Carl Rodd from FWWM. But what little screen time he had he was the only one in the whole cast imbued with great humanity and empathy. Nothing he said or did mattered to anything else happening, but heck, we got him strumming a guitar and singing a beautiful song. That alone was worth it.

Catherine Coulson’s final turn as Margaret Lanterman, the Log Lady, was also a beautiful performance made more poignant by the self-awareness that she had to know she was dying. I only wish what she had contributed had been in service of a more worthwhile endeavor that brought closure to the Twin Peaks mythos.

New cast member, Amy Shiels, who played the empty but effervescent Candie was delightful. She played a quintessentially “Lynchian” character, both in the fact she is a beautiful woman adorned in a pretty dress and also Candie wasn’t quite right, operating on her own wavelength separate from the other characters in her scenes.

But these bright spots are bittersweet because they weren’t in service of a coherent story with characters to follow and stakes to protect. And the plot also decided to throw in narrative curves seemingly “just because.” The most egregious example of this (how do I choose??) is when the character played, ironically (!), by David Lynch, Gordon Cole, reveals at the top of the 17th part a whole slew of back story about what Agent Cooper was doing before he disappeared twenty-five years ago. There are a few problems with this, but let’s start with the ones off the top of my head: Cooper was pretty busy before he disappeared at the end of season 2. He was on the trail of his old FBI partner, Windom Earle; chasing down clues relating to the secrets of Owl Cave and the White and Black Lodges, and spending time with the woman he’d fallen in love with, Annie Blackburn. Cole tells us that Cooper and Major Briggs had discovered evidence of a malevolent presence/entity called “Judy” before Cooper disappeared and they were making plans to reveal its presence. Is it possible that Cooper and Briggs discovered something all those years ago that we didn’t know about? It’s possible but it flies in the face of the story we watched. Cole intimates this is why Cooper disappeared. Based on the good story we were shown at the end of season 2, rather than the last-minute, crammed-in story we were told at the end of season 3, that doesn’t pass the smell test. Cooper disappeared because he pursued Earle into the Black Lodge to save Annie who’d been kidnapped; in the lodge, he faced his “shadow self” and that version of Cooper escaped, trapping Cooper there. Trying to retcon the whole thing as the result of this malevolent entity, Judy, is lazy. And, more insulting, why do it at the end after none of this came up before? Maybe if this story had been developed instead of the “story” about Cooper “asleep” in Dougie Jones body eating cake slowly and being, literally, pushed from room to room in his insurance agency office it would be easier to accept. Or, at least, if the narrative work to establish the idea would have been more than a monologue by a character with about 90 minutes left in the series, I might be more accepting.

And that’s just one thing. There’s so much more.

What about the glass box in NYC? It seemed like Mr. C put it there, but we never got much of an answer.

What was Mr. C’s plan? He was first trying to escape being pulled back into the Black Lodge and then he was looking for Judy (I guess?). So, if he’s looking for pure evil, why would he seek out the coordinates to the White Lodge? And why would it then deposit him at the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s station?

This is less of a question and more of a criticism (surprise!). What was the thinking behind the character of Freddie with the green glove? Here’s where Lynch’s “artist first, storyteller/filmmaker second” stuff falls apart. BOB was the embodiment of evil, depravity, and fear throughout the first two seasons and FWWM. Rightfully so. He was in many ways the “villain” of Twin Peaks, if such a role could be identified. But he was also a supernatural entity. Spirit, demon, alien? Whatever he is, it didn’t seem like BOB was a force you could defeat so much as contain or lock away. The end of Twin Peaks episode 16, “Natural Law,” features our leads, Cooper, Truman, Hawk, Albert, and Major Briggs hypothesizing about the nature of BOB. Cooper hopes to understand so as to stop him, but it seemed as clear as anything on Twin Peaks ever was that BOB was a force. Well, hold on, because “nope!” BOB is really just a big black bubble that, if you punch it hard enough with a special green rubber glove, can be destroyed. And, if that weren’t enough, the guy wielding the glove isn’t Cooper or Hawk or, heck, even Andy. No, it’s some random guy named Freddie who appeared once in part 2 and then showed up again in part 16 to explain how he got the green glove before using it in part 17 to punch out the ultimate embodiment of evil. Why didn’t James Hurley have the glove? I mean, it’s an asinine idea in the first place, but at least it could have been something a character we knew with some emotional tie to the events of the series had. Hell, James could have picked it up while he was motorcycling the roadways of America with the likes of Wally Brando.

While we’re on the subject of James, why did he come back to town? What was his “motorcycle accident “all about? Where is Donna Hayward? She was James’ main squeeze. And she learned that Ben Horne was probably her dad at the end of season 2. Never mentioned.

Speaking of Haywards, why is Gersten Hayward in a disturbing adulterous relationship with a drug-addled guy married to Shelly’s daughter? What does it have to do with anything?

Why is Shelly fooling around with a strange, dangerous, maybe supernatural drug dealer named Red?

Why can Carl Rodd, who apparently relocated his trailer park franchise across the state from Deer Meadow to Twin Peaks, see spirits (Garmonbozia?) expel from dead children? And does it even matter that he can since it’s never referenced again, nor needed to advance any story?

Was the “Evolution of the Arm’s” doppelganger in league with Mr. C? Is that why it hurled Cooper into an abyss when he tried to leave the Black Lodge? Did things go wrong because Mr. C created a Tulpa to replace him or were things haywire before that? “Is it future? Or is it past?”

How about the question we’ve been waiting twenty five years to answer? “How’s Annie?” Turns out, we’re still waiting to find out. She’s mentioned once by Hawk and then never again. Heather Graham is busy, but not so busy she couldn’t have appeared in this. Cooper risked his life and spent 25 years in purgatory to save Annie. We never learn what became of her.

Oh yeah, what the hell happened to Audrey? Is she in a coma? Is she dead? Delusional? Why even include her if that’s what you’re going to do with her iconic character? Nothing. At least Donna went unmentioned.

I could go on for a bit, but let’s stop with the biggest cul-de-sac of all: Dougie. What purpose did including 12+ episodes of Cooper meandering around in Las Vegas, unable to do anything without help, serve? We kept being promised that it would all payoff in the end. Other than the Mitchum brothers flying Cooper to Washington, that story added nothing. And even that bit, Cooper could have found another way to get where he was going. What makes this whole thing worse is the thought that maybe there was an element of gamesmanship here. Not just on the audience, but on executives and movie studios. It was revealed recently that Lynch and Frost wrote an unproduced screenplay in the late 80s, One Saliva Bubble, with a character very much like Dougie. Were Lynch and Frost regurgitating an old character in a new form? A more popular, high-profile form that would validate a past script that wasn’t picked up? It doesn’t seem far-fetched to me. There is a reading one could make about Twin Peaks: The Return being Lynch’s revenge for the critical savaging that FWWM received. Much of the new season was spent justifying and layering in elements of FWWM. Regardless, it’s troubling to me that they may have retrofitted another character and another story to make this one. There’s no way to know for sure.

All of it culminated in a mind-boggling two-part finale with an unsatisfying, cobbled together confrontation with Mr. C and BOB, time travel, and then dimensional (?) transport to another world “because.” Cooper undoes Laura’s murder by Leland/BOB and the timeline is, arguably, reset but Laura still disappears. Theories abound that what we saw in the last episode was actually a happy ending and Laura’s/Carrie’s scream destroyed “Judy.” Maybe? I didn’t expect I would have to pull out my trigonometry textbook to understand the end of the show. The Black Lodge sequence at the end of season 2, while surrealistic and crazy, makes a certain logical sense. You had enough information throughout the preceding season and your own common sense to piece together what was happening. Not so with the latest finale.

Characters do things because they do. We are given no reason for why these things happen. Despite Cooper having a deep emotional bond and friendship with Audrey Horne, they never encounter one another. Despite Cooper having fallen in love with Annie Blackburn, her name never once comes up and the haunting “How’s Annie?” tag from the season two cliffhanger goes unanswered. Instead, Cooper apparently has a deep, abiding romance with his former FBI assistant, Diane, played by Laura Dern. Despite never appearing in the flesh before season three, she is now the most important new character and someone who Cooper loves deeply, despite none of this being apparent before. Apparently, artists can change their stories at will, make characters do and say anything no matter whether it makes any sense, and conveniently ignore what came before if it doesn’t line up with what you want to do now. That’s bold and visionary!

Since Cooper and Diane are (apparently) soul mates, they partner on a trip 430 miles away from Twin Peaks (I guess) because that number was given to Cooper by the renamed Giant, who is apparently the “Fireman” now. What they are doing seems important, but again, we have no idea what it is. Eventually, they cross from day into night with the help of “electricity,” which Fire Walk With Me kinda sorta tells us is important, but it is front and center in season 3. They appear to have gone into a new world (a parallel universe? A pocket dimension comic books are so fond of?) the nature of which is unclear. They now behave differently and somewhat distantly from one another. They go to a motel and have sex which goes from passionate to disturbing and painful. Diane disappears in the morning and Cooper forges ahead, leaving from a different motel and driving a different call than the one he used to get there. Another parallel universe? A dream? Whatever.

Cooper finds a diner called “Judy’s” where he confronts a gang of cowboy hicks harassing a waitress and learns another waitress works there, but she’s off. He goes to the waitress’s house and, lo and behold, it’s Sheryl Lee as a waitress named Carrie Page. Cooper insists her name is Laura Palmer, but she doesn’t know that name. He wants to take her to Twin Peaks and she agrees because she just killed a guy in her living room. Okay. Visionary! After roughly twenty minutes of night driving without dialogue and without purpose or plot or motivation revealed, they drive through downtown Twin Peaks (North Bend!) and end up at Laura Palmer’s house where, conceivably, her mom, Sarah Palmer still lives. But they learn that Sarah doesn’t live there. Confused, they go back down to the street, where Cooper seems to realize that something is amiss, he utters, “What year is this?” Whether it’s Cooper’s question or the veneer was cracking anyway, Carrie hears Sarah Palmer’s voice faintly calling Laura for breakfast. Carrie screams like only Sheryl Lee can and the power shorts off everywhere and we smash to black.

After twenty-five agonizing years of not knowing what happened to our favorite characters and the town of Twin Peaks, we still don’t know. And we’re more confused than ever. All we’re left with are more questions and memories of 12 episodes featuring Kyle MacLachlan as Dougie learning how to eat pancakes and doodle on insurance contracts.

While the bulk of Twin Peaks fans are poring over the third season looking for clues and trying to disassemble the unknowable “puzzle” that Lynch and Frost conjured up from old scripts and ideas that were maligned 25 years ago, I’m inconsolable. I loved Twin Peaks so much and I feel like I was bamboozled, like a member of a cult who realized the whole thing is at the whim of its eccentric leader and the only rule is that he makes the rules. 

Will I buy Mark Frost’s book, Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier? It’s pre-ordered already. Of course I’ll read it because I hate myself and. like anyone coming out of a bad breakup, I have to spy on my former love to see what she’s up to. I’m desperately hoping that the book will provide answers or closure to that train wreck of a finale, even though I know it won’t.

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I Disagree with David Lynch

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Twin Peaks fever has taken hold for the first time in 26 years. The original series is being celebrated, re-analyzed, dissected, and is sourcing all manner of “listicles” for “best episodes,”  “scariest moments,” “favorite characters,” etc. Suffice it to say, interest in the new season airing on Showtime this Sunday, May 21st at 9 PM EST is high.

But amidst the feverish interest in the new series are two perspectives I find troubling, which impact the show’s lasting legacy and 27 years of fandom. I must defend Twin Peaks season two and the story of the series as a whole.

The first wrongheaded perspective is codifying Twin Peaks as a cult show. It’s revisionist history and it demeans the show’s legacy. It’s certainly true that since it’s been off of the air only the hard core fans have remained invested in the series, but when the show was airing live everyone watched. Not just a rabid, cultish few. Everyone talked about Twin Peaks around the “water cooler” (whatever that was…).

I challenge this idea mostly because classifying Twin Peaks as a “cult show” isn’t accurate. It twists the truth and turns potential future viewers away. When Twin Peaks was hot, it was sizzling and everyone was watching it. Recent reflections on the series have revealed that even state leaders like President George H.W. Bush and Queen Elizabeth were enamored with the story of the murdered prom queen and the mystery of who killed her. Rocky Horror Picture Show, my dear The Big Lebowski, and heck even Firefly are cult works. By contrast, Twin Peaks was a national phenomenon.

The second and more pervasive perspective is “Season 2 of Twin Peaks went off the rails.” I’m distilling a lot of criticism into one sentence for simplicity, but bear with me.

Season 1 is universally beloved. It’s tightly plotted, engrossing television that, to this day, still manages to astound with its peculiar dream imagery, emotional soundtrack, gorgeous visuals both in locations and in set design, and outrageous characters. Despite taking place in 1990 (1989?), it feels timeless. There’s a reason for this, of course. Creators David Lynch and Mark Frost crafted the genre-bending, transformational pilot movie and the subsequent 7 episodes together. It’s true that other writers and directors were involved, but the “bones” of the story were assembled by Lynch and Frost.

It’s inaccurate to say that Lynch and Frost were uninvolved in Season 2 and I wish that particular legend would die already. Even Brad Dukes’ great oral history of Twin Peaks dispels this notion. What really happened is more mundane — the first season was a limited season event and season two was picked up for a full 22 episodes and it needed to be run more “traditionally.” In short, the machinery of TV bureaucracy intruded. Lynch and Frost couldn’t just secret themselves away and design the whole season. TV didn’t work that way in 1990. Now, folks like Vince Gilligan (who walks firmly in Lynch and Frost’s footsteps), of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul fame, can develop a season from start to finish albeit with more concise 13 episode counts.

But all of that is beside the point. Despite the added pressure of success and the winding maze of 1990 era TV bureaucracy, Twin Peaks season 2 should not be minimized as lesser work. Indeed, I argue that what season 2 ultimately did was build the world far beyond just the murder of the seemingly innocent homecoming queen.

There are some who say the whole season is rubbish, but much of the criticism is leveled at many of the episodes following the reveal of Laura Palmer’s killer. Some is certainly fair. Let’s start there.

David Lynch (and Mark Frost to a lesser extent) have long lamented pressure from the network to reveal Laura Palmer’s killer. Lynch has argued that it killed “the golden goose.” I’ve never understood this, much less agreed with it. In other descriptions of Twin Peaks, Lynch has described Laura’s murder as the doorway into the strange, bucolic town full of secrets. If that’s true, then once we’re in the town, we’re in. Laura’s murder being solved should be immaterial. You could make the case that people would have abandoned the show anyway after awhile because they’d feel strung along with no answers in sight. In fact, some viewers were already leaving over the feeling of being strung along during early season two!

But from a story perspective Laura’s murder was merely the first layer of the onion. Once you peel it back, you could reveal greater truths and deeper mysteries (which is what happened!). The criticisms I will agree with about the second season have to do more with the poor transition from Laura’s story to the next big story and some of the subplot choices the show pursued. But simply solving Laura’s murder shouldn’t have ended the show when exposing her killer opened the door into the shows deeper mythology which was (and is) rich with even more story potential, hence the fact that we’re getting more show 27 years later!

Following Laura’s murder, the show should have transitioned directly into the Windom Earle story line. Or, perhaps, maybe just one episode of transition and denouement instead of three or four. I’m not proposing anything new or insightful here, I think this idea is almost universally shared. And, to me, that suggests that the late Season Two stories have merit and are good and the slow build to get there were the real problems. I certainly think the Cooper vs. Windom Earle and Hunt for Owl Cave stories were very strong and breathed some new life into the show, further bending the genre into which Twin Peaks falls.

I’m also not willing to let David Lynch and Mark Frost off of the hook for these Season Two matters. Many of the ideas sewn into those stories originated with David and Mark. Brad Dukes’ book, for example, noted that putting Josie into the drawer pull originated with David Lynch. He also appeared as Gordon Cole in audio and in person. If he didn’t like what he was seeing from the material and the approach, why didn’t he say something or do something? Mark Frost apparently did a writing pass over every script; one or both of the creators was involved in every story the show produced. Lynch, of course, famously reasserted himself in the amazing season two finale (if you don’t know, Lynch used very little of what was scripted for the Black Lodge sequence at the end). But why wait? Some Lynch sycophants won’t like this, since he “walks on water,” but these questions deserve answers especially when he piles on season two as well (as recently as today!). I say, “Own it.”

Putting the leadership questions aside, it’s also worth putting things into their historical context. Twin Peaks season two, particularly the post Laura Palmer episodes, aired and were preempted by the Gulf War. For a deeply serialized show like Twin Peaks, that was a fatal blow. Add to that the show was moved to Saturday nights–hardly a good night for cultivating a TV audience. Original fans, even diehards, likely had a tough time finding the show. But even if they did, with huge gaps in episodes, it was harder to pick up the threads from previous episodes. And it was 1991. There weren’t reruns like there are now and no way to find missed episodes unless you taped them.

I point this out because I’m a “second-generation” (third?) Twin Peaks fan. I was introduced to the show in a college course about transformational TV dramas and subsequently watched it on DVD. I was able to watch the show one after the other. A pre-Netflix binge, if you will. While the post-Laura Palmer episodes are certainly different, in that they lack the central plot thread (at least initially), I still enjoyed them. And if you watched them in close sequencing, without weeks or months long gaps, they hold together much better. I can certainly understand fans’ frustrations in 1991 about watching Ben Horne reenact the Civil War in his office or James mope around with a melodramatic married woman while not advancing the main story much about Windom Earle, the missing Major Briggs, or where BOB had gone. But revisiting these episodes in a more streamlined fashion is enjoyable and easier to pick up the thread.

By the way, I thought the “Ben-as-a-Civil-War-general” story was funny. Ludicrous in the way only Twin Peaks could do. Josie’s story ramped up and, as a result, Sheriff Truman became a more well-rounded character with more to do. I thought the story about Jean Renault conspiring to get Cooper drummed out of the FBI and ultimately killed was good. Renault has a particularly good quote in his final episode:

“Before you came here, Twin Peaks was a simple place. My brothers sold drugs to truck-drivers and teenagers. One-Eyed Jack’s welcomed curious tourists and businessmen. Quiet people lived quiet lives. Then a pretty girl dies. And you arrive. Everything changes. My brother Bernard is shot and left to die in the woods. A grieving father smothers my surviving brother with a pillow. Arson, kidnapping. More death and destruction. Suddenly the quiet people here are no longer quiet. Their simple dreams have become a nightmare. Maybe you brought the nightmare with you. And maybe, it will die with you.”

It encapsulates quite nicely why I think the post-Laura Palmer episodes have merit. Before Laura died, all of the town’s secrets lay dormant with no one particularly interested in exposing them, if that was even possible. Laura’s death was a gateway into these secrets and the deeper mysteries waiting in the woods and solving her murder did not put the cap back on the bottle–it was broken open and could not be resealed. That’s the beauty of TV storytelling, iterative stories that build off of what’s come before and the resolution of Laura’s murder and what happened in the aftermath were worthwhile stories. Poorly executed, perhaps, but that doesn’t mean the story should not have been told.

I’m defensive about season two because all we have had for years is the episodes that were made. No comic books. No further sequels. Just these episodes and a movie. Beyond that, I loved the story of how Dale Cooper became a town deputy and embedded himself deeper into the town and it’s people. His friendship with Sheriff Truman, Andy, and Hawk grew. And he wanted to buy property in Twin Peaks. To me, it was the natural evolution of Cooper’s character that he had completely and utterly fallen in love with Twin Peaks. The real love story of Twin Peaks isn’t Cooper and Audrey or Ed and Norma, it’s Cooper and the town itself.

Coming back to the main point, many of the things people remember about Twin Peaks originated in Season 2. Iconic moments, characters, and stories: the Giant, Laura Palmer’s secret diary, white-haired Leland, Denise Bryson, the white and black lodges, Josie in the drawer knob, “How’s Annie?,” and more. It’s just become fashionable to dump on Twin Peaks season two so people do it and I’d venture to say that many who do haven’t seen the episodes they’re trashing in a while (if at all).

After 27 years (12 for me), the only content fans have had from the world of Twin Peaks are 29 episodes and a movie. We’ve lived with those stories for years, theorized about them, debated them, dreamed about them, wondered what would happen next. We may like some stories more than we like others, yes; that’s true of anything. But those stories are all Twin Peaks.

We can lament that David Lynch didn’t direct more episodes, but the fact of the matter is: he didn’t. Episodes that are probably well loved were written and directed by people who are not David Lynch. Mark Frost directed the season one finale quite capably. Lesli Linka Glatter, Caleb Deschanel, Duwayne Dunham, Tim Hunter… all great directors who brought life to the stories and characters. The show was orchestrated by all of these people, not just David Lynch and Mark Frost.

When the new show continues, it will be guided firmly by David Lynch and Mark Frost. More power to them. I can’t wait to see what they have in store for us. But I do hope that 27 years of stories, because that’s what they really are, are not cast aside casually. It’s been 27 years in real life, perhaps just 25 years in the show, but life moves on. I get it and that’s license to forget about some things. I really don’t care much about the pine weasel or Little Nicky all grown up, but it would be nice to learn if Ghostwood was ever developed. Does Josie still haunt drawer pulls in the Great Northern Hotel? Is that what happened to the Log Lady’s husband? Is Ben Horne really Donna Hayward’s father? What, if anything, did Major Briggs do with the communication from Windom Earle via Sarah Palmer (“I’m in the Black Lodge with Dale Cooper.”)?

Twin Peaks is the sum of its 30 parts, counting the movie, too. I’m a completionist. I’ve never been able to say, “Well, Star Trek seasons one and two are really great, but season three is terrible so I don’t count it.” No. The work is the work. Frankly, I think it’s a fun bit of fandom to analyze and criticize the best and worst parts of a series. To stick with my Star Trek analogy, The Next Generation season one is, to put it kindly, not it’s best. But it’s not like the events of that season are ignored because the episodes didn’t turn out as well as we would have liked.

Life is that way, too. There are things we are proud of in our lives. There are things we wish we had not done or that we had done them differently. But all of our experiences make up who we are now. We can choose to ignore some parts of our pasts, but those things happened and they affect us regardless.

I say accept Twin Peaks the same way. It is the sum of its parts, some good, some Evelyn and Little Nicky. But soon, there will be more parts and that cannot be anything but exciting.

Enjoy your coffee and pie this weekend, folks.

I’m on a Podcast!

Hi all!

There’s a great YouTube channel, and Facebook page (!), called “Obnoxious and Anonymous” that populates great entertainment news and opinion. I’ve recently joined as a contributor and I’m fortunate enough to appear on some of the weekly podcasts. It’s exactly my taste (in that we talk about nonsense), so if you enjoy my blog, you’ll probably enjoy the podcasts too.

This week’s podcast includes two members of the YouTube group “The Sausage Factory,” Cole and Orc. They have some great film discussions and “live watches” on their channel. They’re also big 80’s slasher film fans and I’m also a mega fan. TSF has a new episode premiering tonight, so check it out.

But this latest “O&A” video is one of the best and Cole and Orc are a couple of smart, funny guys so we have a pretty good discussion. I hope you enjoy and, if it floats your boat, subscribe to the channel! And this one!

 

Sequels, Reboots, and Shared Universes – Oh My!

Jaws 19

This time it’s really personal.

I know I said I would stop apologizing about not writing enough, but I feel bad that I’m not more up to date. It’s this annoying fatherhood… I mean, like “Change your own diaper!”

Fortunately, I’m feeling the itch to write these days thanks to some contributions I’m making at Obnoxious and Anonymous on video podcasts about a variety of subjects.

I’ve been aching to take on the persistent, knee-jerk cynicism about sequels, reboots, and the relatively new phenomenon of shared movie universes.

On the surface, I get it.

As the writer of my own original independent work (works), I would like room to break in and show people something new as opposed to a 3rd Spider-Man reboot within 15 years of the original film – to say nothing of the fact that the character has been in production for about fifty years of comics and cartoons (let’s not speak of the live action 70s show…). New characters and new stories are necessary. We can’t keep rehashing the same things over and over.

And, more to the point, I think what I, as a fan, sometimes hate about sequels or reboots is how bad they can be, which can spoil the memories and connections I’ve made to the original work. Two examples that illustrate this perfectly for me are the original Sam Raimi Spider-Man films and The X-Men films. Both series started out with decent first films and then debuted stronger, more complex—more awesome—sequels. Then each series turned out bad second sequels that were not only pretty bad films, but they soured the stories and my memories of the first two films. I would point out, too, that it was largely studio interference or behind the scenes problems that tanked these movies. Not that it makes it better, but it’s not like the ideas were flawed from the start.

But the geek in me—the passionate fan—wants more content about the things I love. More good content. I want these films—or TV shows—to succeed. Sometimes I think I come off as a contrarian when it comes to these things because there seems to be so much vitriol online against sequels that I feel the need to balance the scales and defend them.

It’s not just that, though. The truth is: we don’t hate sequels. Some of our favorite films are sequels. There are the obvious ones: Godfather 2, Aliens, Terminator 2… these movies are not only good by their own rights, but they grew the worlds of the original films and gave us extra dimensions of the characters and situations that only improve the original movies in context.

I would add Beverly Hills Cop 2 and Lethal Weapon 2 to that list as well, by the way.

I have less patience for so-called reboots, but even there I think there is something interesting in taking an established property and playing with our expectation of it. It may seem like an odd example, but the Friday the 13th reboot is one of the best. The writers clearly had a love for the original material and the film is like a spiritual remix of the first four movies in the “original” series. They even took the opportunity to make sense of the original series disjointed mythology related to Jason’s original drowning and return. More than anything, they got the character of Jason right. He’s not necessarily a complex character, but Jason Goes To Hell is an example of how wrong you can portray Jason Voorhees (including misspelling his last name like JGTH does).

On the other hand, I have a seething hatred for Rob Zombie’s Halloween reboot. That’s an example of how not to reboot something. Zombie fundamentally does not understand the characters of the original Halloween least of all Michael Myers and Dr. Loomis, who are pretty important to get right. Zombie said once that Dr. Loomis must have been the worst psychiatrist in the world, which to me is one of the most brain dead things I have ever heard. The point in Carpenter’s Halloween was that Michael Myers was pure evil. No amount of psychiatric treatment would have helped him because he’s not a person. He’s a force. But I digress… I could devote a whole blog to my hatred of that film.

Meanwhile, Chris Nolan’s Batman Begins is another example of how to properly reboot a property. In that case, it almost seems easy in retrospect. After Batman and Robin, there was no way it could be worse. But Nolan didn’t settle for average—Nolan and screenwriter David Goyer crafted a story that explored the character of Bruce Wayne and Batman, which, oddly enough, wasn’t really done in the previous four Batman films; the previous directors put the focus on Batman’s rogues as opposed to the Dark Knight. Bruce Wayne, in costume as Batman, doesn’t even show up until around the 40 minute mark of Batman Begins. It’s a strong film and, by the way, followed by the amazing sequel The Dark Knight.

Finally, while sequels and reboots aren’t exactly new, the concept of a “shared movie universe” is less than 10 years old. Birthed by our good friends at Marvel, for those of you living under a rock since 2008, this is when more than one movie franchise exists in the same “universe.” Basically, Tony Stark (Iron Man) can go have coffee with Bruce Banner (The Hulk). What happens in one film happens for all the films in that shared universe.

It makes the most sense with comic book properties because that’s how comic books work. As Spider-Man web-slings around the city he might pass Iron Man or Johnny Storm (Human Torch) flying in the other direction. Crossovers are plentiful. But the standard of believability and reality in a feature film (or TV show) is different from a comic book. Marvel’s shared universe gambit was so bold because of the logistics involved with meshing, say, Thor with Iron Man. Iron Man wears a high-tech suit that flies. While it’s fantastical, it’s grounded in a kind of realism that makes it believable. Meanwhile, Thor is a musclebound god who flies and hits people with a magic hammer that only he* can lift. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have been worried, but you can see how there was cause for concern.

But criticisms of the shared universe concept go beyond movie logic. Marketing, particularly by Marvel, has been problematic. Last summer Marvel announced every movie slated for release through 2019. While it was interesting to see the new properties that would debut, like Dr. Strange, Black Panther, and Captain Marvel, new entries in existing character franchises were announced as well—not to mention the next two Avengers entries. It’s been argued that this robbed Avengers: Age of Ultron of some drama because if we know that Captain America is coming out next year, then we know he survives the film and is OK. Same with Thor, who also had a new entry announced.

This criticism is fair. But my response is simple. Who actually thinks Marvel would kill off a marquee character like Thor or Captain America when the actors still have films left on their contracts? Besides, death with comic book characters is about as permanent as the Hulk’s shirt.

I love the idea. But I have two gripes. One, studios are tried to do shared movie universes with everything whether it makes sense or not. Universal is working on a classic monster shared universe with Dracula, the Mummy, the Wolfman, etc. Paramount is working on a Transformers universe with spinoff films centered on different characters like Bumblebee. Meanwhile, one shared universe I’m excited about is a Stephen King universe and this is mostly because there is a shared King book universe connected by The Dark Tower series.

My second gripe is aimed at Marvel and DC. Marvel built up to 2012’s The Avengers where all of our established heroes, Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Hulk, Black Widow, and Hawkeye teamed up with S.H.I.E.L.D. to fight aliens. Awesome! Then Iron Man 3 threw it all out the window. After establishing all of these characters and the connectivity in the greater world, Iron Man effectively faces off against Al Qaeda by another name and he does so alone. One might wonder why S.H.I.E.L.D., the overarching intelligence apparatus that seems to know everything, didn’t appear. I did! The movie never addresses this issue. After S.H.I.E.L.D. was up Tony Stark’s butt for two independent films and then a team-up film why would it suddenly disappear when terrorists fly up to Iron Man’s house and blow it up? Why weren’t they involved in combatting the terrorists up to that point? The movie could have had one line that fixed this and I would have stayed mum: “Oh man, S.H.I.E.L.D. is so busy cleaning up New York they’re undermanned…” or whatever. Problem solved. But the movie doesn’t bother to address it.

Similarly, in Captain America: The Winter Soldier when Steve Rogers and Black Widow are on the run, they go to Falcon’s house and say everyone they know is trying to kill them. What about Tony Stark? They were even in New Jersey at one point, which brought them close to NYC where Tony and THE HULK were chilling in their Science Bros lab. Again, not really addressed. I would have been happy with a line that explained S.H.I.E.L.D. was monitoring Tony’s phones or Tony wouldn’t respond. Something. Anything! The movie clearly knew that Iron Man exists because “Anthony Stark” is targeted by “Project Insight” at the movie’s climax. I get that each character needs their own films and stories, but if you’re going to go to the trouble of building a shared universe you have to maintain it and acknowledge what you’ve built.

I’ve made my feelings about DC clear in other pieces so I won’t belabor them here. I will only note that the inner-connectivity between Arrow and The Flash is a perfect example of how to do it right. My complaints about DC are more about how they won’t unify all of their TV properties and have separated their films from TV.

Basically, my position is simple. Sequels, reboots, shared universes – make them! But make them well. And if you’re going to develop a shared universe, you need to respect the audience’s intelligence – don’t ignore the fact these characters exist in each other’s’ lives. Otherwise, why are you doing it?

Consistency

I have tried to remain non-political on the blog. And it will mostly remain a non-political place. I mean, c’mon, talking about Ghostbusters or Lost or The Avengers is way better than wading into that crap. In fact, let’s not even call this one “political.” Let’s call it “philosophy.”

It’s not that I don’t have opinions, I most certainly do. But I find—and studies have borne this out—the proliferation of media has given us the freedom to consume the content we want and ignore what we don’t; and most of us don’t want to discuss politics or philosophy that may challenge us. “Conservatives”* consume content that reflects that ideology and “liberals”* do the same. On the surface, I understand this perspective. We all work. We all commute. We’re living our lives and just making it through the day is hard enough sometimes without needing to get worked up in political conversations that shake us or make us uncomfortable.

But I can’t stay silent. The truth is we are not as different as MSNBC or Fox News tells us we are. I have many friends of various political stripes and 9 times out of 10, in our day-to-day lives, we agree or, at least, we can compromise on important subjects. If nothing else, we can have a discussion. But the reason things seem polarized, when viewed through the media’s filter, is because they only juxtapose issues between two points. Liberal or conservative. Democrat or republican. Wrong or right. But there is almost never a situation in our lives that comes down to just two choices. We’re faced with a spectrum of options at any given moment and so too are we representative of a spectrum of opinions, positions, and philosophies.

Just in case you think this is going to be an argument for “centrism,” let me stop you right there. I’m not a centrist. But my overall point is that I don’t think centrism is real because I don’t think there are only two positions between which there is a middle ground into which some people fall. But if you’re married to existing terminology if I’m arguing anything it’s that most people are “centrists” in the traditional sense. We simply get pulled into choosing one side over another when we would probably choose neither one if that was a legitimate option (and some do this, incidentally).

Since we’re forced to choose between two positions we often twist ourselves into argumentative knots to fit our complex views into the most compatible position. I won’t use an arbitrary example; I’ll use myself. I believe in a small government of specified and limited powers. I believe that’s the surest way to prevent the abuse of power by our elected leadership. What should the government’s specified powers be? Let that be a debate for another day. Let’s stay general here. I’ve said that I believed this for many years, going all the way back to high school. But I didn’t. I was like many people; I was partisan and really just parroting my parents’ values.

You see, when I was in high school, the US was attacked by Islamic fundamentalist terrorists who knocked down the Twin Towers in New York City and crashed a plane into the Pentagon. I, like everyone else it seemed, was shocked, horrified, scared, and angry. As the government grinded into action with a military response, I cheered them on. When Congress passed the Patriot Act, billed as a way to unify our intelligence efforts and make it easier to pursue terrorists, I cheered. Someone was doing something.

The problem, and it took me years to realize this, was that we compromised our principles to address this threat. What’s the saying? “We had to burn down the village to save it?” It’s melodramatic, but my point, and again I’m only talking about myself, is that I said I supported a small government of specified, limited powers except in certain circumstances. There it is. A lack of consistency.

If I had been consistent with my beliefs, I would not have supported many provisions in the Patriot Act. I believe in the philosophical basis that formed our country and supported documents like the Declaration of Independence. That declaration notes that all men are created equal and have certain fundamental, inalienable rights that come from our creator. Whether or not you believe in God is immaterial, if you’re alive, you have the right to live and all the others. Those rights belong to you simply by existing. I believe that with sincerity. Therefore, how could I support treating some people, in this case “enemy combatants,” as less than people? How could I support holding people indefinitely without trial and without representation? If I am being consistent, I cannot.

Now, please make no mistake: one of government’s express powers is national defense. And fighting a war takes commitment and certainty. If you’re going to do it, name your enemy and define victory. I supported, and still do, our response to attack Afghanistan which housed the Al Qaeda terrorist leadership. But I cannot support the invasion of Iraq if I am being consistent with my principles. Iraq was a dictatorship run by a madman. Is the world a better place without Saddam Hussein? Unequivocally so. But it’s also a more complicated place. And simply because Hussein was a bad person, does not mean that invading his country was the right policy decision for the United States. Despite what some may think, the question is still open on Iraq’s weapon caches, which was our justification for waging that war. The NY Times reported on the thousands of chemical weapons found over the course of our engagement there and some suspect that more of the active weaponry ultimately ended up in the hands of the Syrians. But you know what, this is immaterial to my larger point.

I supported something in which I didn’t believe because my philosophy mostly aligned with the stated policy objectives of those driving it forward. But over time, I realized that the political party pushing that agenda forward, for all its talk of small government and responsible foreign policy, merely wanted big government to advance its interests and reward its political allies. And sadly, the only other legitimate political alternative is doing the same thing with a different set of big government objectives.

I eventually came to a place where I couldn’t honestly defend my personal philosophy and support some of the public policy choices made by representatives in the party I traditionally supported. I’m suspicious of overreaching government power. I took to heart the chief lesson learned by the Founders of the United States of America – unchecked power can and will be abused. So, they designed a system where no one entity of government could act without the cooperation—and compromise—of the other entities. But that system is gone now. When the President of the United States takes unilateral action and half the country cheers him because he’s a member of their political party, and they would jeer if a President from the other party tried the same thing, it’s hard to believe in the process. The process has been replaced by parties.

And it’s frustrating because, like I noted near the beginning, I find tremendous agreement with friends and colleagues on important issues that affect our day-to-day lives. A government represented by people like us, not entrenched ideologues, would be something indeed. My wife and I just had a baby and as we prepare for the future, I’m drowning in the details of our finances. My wife and I (seem to) make a good living, but when I look at the costs ahead I’m worried. And no one is talking about that. No one is working to address the problem in our tax code that doesn’t take enough taxes out of a married couple’s income so that they owe money during tax season. That issue, and many others like it, isn’t sexy, so it’s rarely addressed.

So… I don’t know where to turn. The only thing I know how to do is be true to what I believe. I stand by my principles. To anyone reading this, I would simply ask that you be consistent. If you think it’s wrong for the government to stick its nose into the parenting style of people who let their kids walk, alone, to the park, then it should also be wrong for the government to stick its nose into the consensual relationship between two adults be they a man and a woman or two men or two women.

And if you think it’s wrong for the President to exercise too much unchecked power when he’s a democrat, then I hope you feel the same way when he’s a republican. And vice versa. I think we would get better representation if we were more consistent like that.

Ugh.

Now that we have that out of the way, how about that Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice trailer??

A Dearth of Strong Females in Game of Thrones? I think not.

Hermione on the Throne

How great would it be to get Hermione on Game of Thrones?

Time Magazine just reported that Game of Thrones fans are disappointed by the supposed* absence of a female character in the series upcoming 5th season.

The author, Nolan Feeney, is referring to Arianne Martell, heiress to the capital city of Dorne. She’s apparently a significant character in the books (I haven’t read that far yet — I am almost done with A Clash of Kings as of this writing.) Mr. Nolan noted: “…she was a strong, complex female character in a fictional universe that doesn’t have too many of those.”

If that’s supposed to be sarcasm, I didn’t get it. Setting aside, for the moment, the character’s supposed importance to the story in the books, I don’t see how Game of Thrones is lacking in strong female characters. Let’s count them out: Catelyn Stark**, Arya Stark, Cersei Lannister, Melissandre (The Red Woman), Daenerys Targaryen, Brienne of Tarth, Asha (Theon’s sister), Osha, Lady Olenna, and, my personal favorite, Ygritte** (of “You know nothing, Jon Snow” fame). All of these women fit the “strong female character” label to me.

And I’m being somewhat dogmatic, too. I think a case can be made that Margarey Tyrell belongs in that list. She’s not stabbing people with swords or directing governments, but she’s playing a pretty high-level political game with Cersei Lannister and it’s one she’s been pursuing since Renly Baratheon. I would also suggest that Sansa deserves credit (although she has annoyed me at times) for surviving as a hostile prisoner in very bad circumstances; however, our final glimpse of Sansa suggests she’s taking control of her fate like never before. Hell, she was bat-shit crazy, but Catelyn’s sister, Lysa Arryn**, is a candidate — she was a queen and clearly in charge of her realm (again, albeit unstable in the brain space).

Consider, too, about what the author (and some of the sampled Twitter postings) are complaining. One female character is (potentially) being omitted. But they’re still adding four new female characters, that (as I understand it) are all “strong females” — Oberyn Martell’s daughters, the so-called “Sand Snakes.” The show has apparently even added a conflict (read: fight) between one of them, Obara, and another major character, which does not happen in the books. And that’s on top of the list of characters I noted above.

My point is: what are we even talking about here? What’s the purpose of this Time article? It feels like the ongoing, forced media narrative about a “war on women” or underrepresented women… or something? You tell me. I can’t figure it out.

Is the argument that there are more male characters in Game of Thrones than women? Is it that of the number of men characters vs. women characters, more men are “strong?” I wouldn’t try to refute either of those points (if that’s even from where this is coming), but take a look at some other series on TV right now. Are there even more than one or two primary women characters in the cast? Are they “strong?” Did they, for example, like Brienne of Tarth, take on, in hand to hand combat, one of the most formidable male characters in their series (to say nothing of all the other men she’s killed in combat)? And that’s just Brienne — Daenarys has been burning and burying guys left and right. Arya — freakin’ Arya — a little girl, is more badass than 90% of the males on the show.

On NCIS, they have only two female characters. Of them, they’re both “strong,” I suppose (in a network TV sense), but really only one of them is out there kicking butt and dealing justice (I’m just considering Kate, Ziva, and whoever the new one is, the same role — it satisfies the same purpose in the cast). On Special Victims Unit, there are two females, both “strong” among a cast of numerically more men (at least in my last viewing). So, are we calling out these shows as well?

Not only is this Time article unnecessary and reaching in its point (whatever it is), but I think just the opposite: Game of Thrones is setting a new standard for “strong, female characters” in entertainment. Think about who we root for on the show (or, at least, for whom I root): Daenarys, Arya, Brienne, Catelyn, Ygritte… and while I hate her guts, Cersei Lannister is a force to be reckoned with, one who has the upper hand over just about every male character.

Do some critical thinking, Time Magazine.

 

*We don’t 100% know that this character has been omitted. It just looks like, from casting info, that the role does not exist in the TV series as of now.

 

–SPOILERS BELOW–

 

**I realize that Catelyn, Ygritte, and Lysa are no longer with us, but they were on the show and were definitely “strong, female characters.”

I Hate the Song “Rude” and You Should, Too

I despise this song.

Originally, I thought my reaction was visceral, based in the fact that the song is played 4,000 times an hour. I sometimes have a contrarian’s view that rejects certain popular concepts, simply because they’re popular, so this seemed likely at first.

Maybe it’s the singer, Nasri Atweh’s, whiny cadence and squeaky intonation. A quick Wikipedia perusal tells me the band Magic! is “canadian reggae fusion.” I don’t support a single descriptor between those quotes, so that’s definitely part of it.

When I first heard the song, I thought it was kind of catchy and listened to it without really listening. The more I began to hate it the more I paid attention to the lyrics. Backwards, I know. Once I honed in on exactly what the song is saying, that’s when I realized I hated the song. The “meaning” is actually my top reason for hating it.

If, by some miracle, you have escaped listening to “Rude” by Magic! the song has a pretty simple story. A guy is going to ask his girlfriend’s father for permission to marry her and the father says “no.” Pretty straightforward. It’s also not a new concept. Quite a bit of music is about people telling other people they can’t do something and then the people who have been told that express their strong opinions about having been told that (see: Pat Benatar). I get it.

Read these lyrics (or, if you dare, listen to the song) and I will tell you why it makes my blood boil. Hopefully, you’ll get it before I say anything:

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?
Say yes, say yes ’cause I need to know
You say I’ll never get your blessing ’til the day I die
Tough luck, my friend, but the answer is ‘No’

Why you gotta be so rude?
Don’t you know I’m human too?
Why you gotta be so rude?
I’m gonna marry her anyway

Marry that girl
Marry her anyway
Marry that girl
Yeah, no matter what you say
Marry that girl
And we’ll be a family
Why you gotta be so
Rude

I skipped over the very first lyrics because they don’t bear on my annoyance as much, although in them the guy explains how he “got out of bed” and put on a suit (his “best” one, apparently) to head over to this poor dad’s house. No shower? No deodorant? I’m probably being overly judgmental now.

No, my real problem is that the core concept of the song is endemic of 2014 culture. This guy acknowledges that his girlfriend’s father is “an old fashioned man” who would like to be asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage and, indeed, asks. But when the dad says “no,” his response isn’t “I’m going to prove to you that I’m the guy” or “we deserve to be together.” No, it’s “Why you gotta be so rude?” Essentially, I asked you for permission to do something, you said “no,” and so you’re being rude to me. What? Why did you even ask if the only answer you would accept is “yes?”

This is such a quintessentially 2014 kind of theme and I really hate how this is where our culture is heading. If people say things that we don’t like, it’s “rude” or “offensive” when, in fact, it may not be either of those things (Time Magazine actually has a funny piece about how the father’s reaction doesn’t, definitionally, qualify as “rude”)– but we don’t like it, so we mis-characterize it and label it like some attack upon us personally.

Then, later he says he’s “…gonna marry her anyway…no matter what [dad says]…” I actually don’t have a problem with that concept in of itself. It is 2014 and I generally think that once someone is 18 and living his or her own life, they’re responsible to make decisions regarding who to marry and not marry. But it goes back to the idea that this guy did seek out his girlfriend’s father because he recognized it was something the dad would want and when he gets an answer he doesn’t like, he declares it “rude” and, like a whiny bitch, says “I’m gonna marry her anyway.”

There are plenty of songs about people being told they can’t do something where the singer simply flouts the rules or ignores authority. I have no problem with them. I rather like quite a few of them, like this one. But everything about “Rude” grates on me from the whiny singer’s voice, to the insolent message, and, yes, the incessant overplaying on the radio.

Please join me in hating it because misery loves company. Thank you.

Return to your daily lives and hope you only hear “Rude” three times on the way home from work.

Editor’s Note: I intentionally did not link to the song because I don’t want to foist it upon anyone else or support the musicians that wrote/performed it. Petty? Yes, but I’ve made it quite clear that I hate the song, so don’t be surprised.