Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me Screen 14 articles

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me

1992

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me Poster
  • A two- hour-plus surrealistic bummer - it makes the audience feel as if it is coming down from a virulent drug. (The pacing, the images, the music and the endemic menace recall clinical descriptions of cocaine-induced paranoia.) One of the many ripoffs related to this disgusting, misanthropic movie is that the audience crashes without first having flown - it gets the DTs without ever having had a drink.

  • In going so far to avoid a linear structure, Lynch has ended up with its equally deadly opposite, a film in which no one scene necessarily follows another. The film`s nearly complete lack of logical connections and forward momentum quickly become tiresome, as if Lynch were simply dealing his cards out on a table, in whatever order the shuffle happened to produce. For a film with a pre-established conclusion, ``Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me`` seems depressingly interminable.

  • Having recently seen or reseen the “complete” Twin Peaks to date, in the splendid Blu-Ray box set, I no longer agree with this review... Though I still regard this prequel feature as uneven and at times uncertain, it clearly deserved more respect and attention than it got from me and most other reviewers at the time.

  • The film serves as a haunting preamble to Palmer’s infamous demise, a backward-closure of sorts for fans of Lynch’s cult television series. Laura acknowledges her sexual abuse and welcomes death with reckless abandon. A torrid journey through the subconscious of a little girl lost, Fire Walk With Me is also a cautionary tale of sorts, the sad chronicle of a sleepy town trying to rid itself of its dirty laundry.

  • An important part of what makes Fire Walk With Me so arresting is how it simultaneously reflects and distorts the series. Far from filling out a story or answering lingering questions, is to restore a sort of innocence lost, commendably endowing the show's principal victim,Laura Palmer, with a voice with which to speak for herself. Twin Peaks was defined, more than anything else, by Laura's pointed absence; Fire Walk With Me is defined by her presence, vivid and terrified and alone.

  • ++

    Cine-File Chicago: Rob Christopher
    June 24, 2016 |

    The shroud of doom that hangs over the film was off-putting to nearly everyone but the show's die-hard fans. Today, it's easier to see the beauty alongside the pain, including Ron Garcia's autumnal cinematography, Angelo Badalamenti's peerless jazz-centered score, and Sheryl Lee's bravura performance. What especially captivates (and disorients) me even now is the film's wholly peculiar geography of time.

  • It took all the niceties Lynch had allowed himself to be shrouded in for the sake of the broadcast TV audience he courted and lit them ablaze. It's weirder, wilder and it's more fearless than Twin Peaks. Not to mention most other American movies circa 1992. This film was Lynch's most aggressively unnerving movie to date.

  • Few [at the time] recognized the film for what it was: a devastating, no-holds-barred portrait of abuse, made all the more cruel by the Lynchian trademarks and the familiarity of the town of Twin Peaks. Featuring a never-better Angelo Badalamenti score, an unforgettable David Bowie cameo, and one of the all-time greatest screen performances courtesy of Sheryl Lee as the doomed Laura Palmer, it is a mesmerizing, heart-wrenching vision unlike any other.

  • I just re-watched Fire Walk With Me and I continue to feel that it’s a bizarre and messy masterpiece of suggestion, mystery, and surrealism... It's suffused with such a feeling of emotional violence and horror – and Sheryl Lee is so damn good, she goes so far into the role – Laura Palmer, this girl who was an object, a mystery, a puzzle, undeniably a dead blonde girl, projected upon, acted upon – throughout the series – that it’s unforgettable what happens to her, what she went through.

  • One of the greatest horror films ever made precisely because its horrors come from within as well as without. Only in death is Laura Palmer finally able to escape, with Lynch sending her off with a profoundly heartfelt vision of spiritual transcendence, of our heroine—having finally made peace with the dueling sides of herself—achieving grace through purifying laughter.

  • In contrast to its reputation for swerving too severely from the moods and attitudes of the series, the film justifies itself as a gift to its tragic heroine... For all the ways it doesn’t immediately make sense, or go out of its way to satisfy all of our curiosities, the film amply proves that the endgame, for Lynch, was not death, but life. Not cruelty or violence, but sympathy — a sympathy present throughout the franchise, but never as all-encompassing a force as in this movie.

  • What the critics at the time didn’t notice (along with Sheryl Lee’s moving and bizarre and fearless performance) but which the Diane podcast is great at spotting, is that the movie takes familiar recurring images from the show like the ceiling fan at the Palmer residence and this set of overhanging traffic lights, and imbues them with new and more powerful meaning.

  • Today, it looks like a flawed masterpiece, exhausting and exhilarating. It's a singular portrayal of "garmonbozia" (pain and sorrow), the cream corn of evil—with all the Lynchian disjunctures that sentence implies. It's abrasive at every level, from Lynch's screaming, whooping sound design to the punishing immersion into Laura's hell. But its extremism is the source of its hypnotic power, and Lynch's corybantic surrealism fits the theme.

  • Laura's descent into hell is foreshadowed by many harbingers of doom, especially Fire Walk with Me's Pink Room sequence, a riotous explosion of lurid color, accompanied by music that suggests a sexually frenzied funeral dirge. Angelo Badalamenti's sonorous horns accompany images that're dotted with youthful female nudity that's uncomfortably and poignantly sleazy. At this point, we couldn't be farther away from the romanticism of Twin Peaks at its sweetest.

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