Seriously Batman

I've had a fascination with Batman all my life. As a little kid Batman was my favorite superhero, due mainly to the syndicated re-runs of the campy Adam West TV series. Once I started reading comics, however, my tastes moved toward the Marvel universe. I rarely bought a Batman comic (the Batman comics of the time seemed dull compared to the exciting world of Marvel). Still, I had an interest in Batman. The "idea" of Batman--the ultimate detective and perfect vigilante--always seemed bigger and more promising than anything the comics or movies could offer.

Batman may be the most serious comic book "hero" of all time (a fact searingly proven to the masses by Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight). He is a character with a complex and troubled psyche. He is brilliant and he is driven. He embraces both the technological and the mystical. He is distinctly not "super." He is perhaps the one comicbook character who I--as an adult--still find compelling.

And, as an adult, I have been drawn to the occasional Batman comic. Such was the case a few months ago when I walked into my local comic shop and saw that Neil Gaiman had scripted a two-part Batman story, "Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader?" Ignorant of the current state of the Batman universe I quickly learned that Batman (i.e., Bruce Wayne) had died and this was Gaiman's brief contribution in a plethora of new story concepts surrounding the death. (Batman/Bruce Wayne will not stay dead, of course. He is as dead as Superman was. As dead as Captain America. Registered trademarks do not die. . . . At least not for very long.)

A fan of Gaiman's comic work, I picked up his two issues of Batman (Batman 686 and Detective Comics 853, both drawn by Andy Kubert). Then I noticed the new Batman and Robin series by writer Grant Morrison and artist Frank Quitely. And who could miss the new Batwoman story in Detective Comics by writer Greg Rucka and artist Stephen Williams III? Before I knew it I was home eagerly reading five new Bat-comics.

The Gaiman story was excellent. A disembodied Batman watches his own funeral as each person who eulogizes him claims to have killed Batman or been the cause of his death. In effect, we are seeing a number of alternate possibilities as to what Batman means to people. Perhaps the most fascinating "possibility" is Alfred's story in which the loyal butler claims to be the Joker (he dressed up as the arch villain to provide an adversary for Batman and thereby mitigate Bruce Wayne's mental instability). Gaiman two-issue story was a very nice, self contained tale. Highly recommended.

The new Batman and Robin was also quite good. I love Frank Quitely's art and his work on this series is gorgeous. Morrison tells a good tale and manages to create a genuinely disturbing character in Pyg. I can't remember the last time I encountered such a gruesome and unsettling villain in a "mainstream" comic. This certainly isn't kid stuff. The other characters are also handled well though the Batman and Robin dynamic seems uninspired (Robin is rather boring as a compulsive brat whom Batman has to keep "teaching lessons"). Still, it's too soon to pass judgment; the book has just started and there are plenty of directions this relationship could go.

The Batwoman story in Detective Comics 854 is also just getting started but from what I've seen so far this may be something special. The art by J.H. Williams III is stunning. His sharp, forceful panels are mesmerizing (to say the least) and the way Batwoman is rendered in black, white and red by colorist Dave Stewart is beautiful. Usually I don't find the female versions of established characters that interesting; Batgirl, Supergirl, She-Hulk, Spiderwoman--they always seem like afterthoughts, just another way to take advantage of the Bat-, Super-, Spider- prefixes. (Or -Hulk suffix--you couldn't have a Hulkwoman, could you?) I'll admit I know next-to-nothing about the new Batwoman's backstory (she's been kicking around the DC universe for some time) but Rucka and Williams have obviously put some effort into making the character intriguing and unique. Her brief interaction with Batman provided an effective contrast between newcomer and legendary counterpart, a point further emphasized by the issue's memorable final panel. Batwoman has a lot of potential and I eagerly await the next issue.

So I'm reading Bat- stories again. I'm seriously psyched. Enough to dig out Frank Miller's first Dark Knight series (please, let's forget the second one) and Batman: Year One and Alan Moore's The Killing Joke and some Matt Wagner stories. Oh, and I just bought Batman: The Long Halloween. I feel like a kid again. It's great!

The Subject of Laura Palmer

(Note: the following post is a revised excerpt from a much longer essay that was originally published in Wrapped In Plastic #71)

In Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, the depiction of Laura Palmer as a dramatic subject is crucial for the success of the film. Fire Walk With Me works only if the audience believes Laura's behavior and perceives her as actively charting the arc of her own story. To be a fully complex character, she must be able to change and to experience revelation. Perhaps more importantly, she must be different by story's end than she was at the beginning.

To make Laura a dramatic subject, director David Lynch needed to take the "idea" of Laura Palmer from the series and bring her to life as a complex, autonomous character. But, because Fire Walk With Me was a prequel, Lynch ran up against the barriers of the already-existing story from the TV series and was therefore committed to following Laura's story to its pre-defined end—the one in which Laura is killed. How could Lynch make Laura an active character in this scenario? How could she become a person who journeys through an experience and is changed by it? Lynch knew that in a successful story Laura had to discover something about herself. Her discovery had to lead to action, and her action had to transform Laura. It was not enough for her to be simply a self-destructive teenager whose poor behavior and bad luck results in a grisly death. Laura had to be more than a victim. She had to take part in her own inevitable murder.

David Lynch knew all this but the circumstances of Laura pre-existing story gave him little room to maneuver.

Making Laura a Complex Character

Lynch and co-writer Robert Engels originally conceived the story of Fire Walk With Me to be one in which Laura Palmer sought escape from the oppressive and pervasive presence of Bob. There were few, if any, choices for Laura to make, no real change for Laura to undergo. Bob was the antagonist and Laura had to find a way to elude his growing power. This story was more in keeping with the facts and backstory established in the series.

At some point between completing the script and shooting the film Lynch realized that he and Engels had failed to make Laura Palmer a fully-realized character. She had no flaws—there was nothing for her to learn, no personal burden for her to overcome. The script still depicted Laura as a helpless victim whose despairing behavior and tragic death resulted from outside forces.

Clearly, the film needed a dramatic ingredient that would strengthen her character.

Lynch found that in the angels—a story element that does not appear anywhere in the shooting script for the film. (In the script, Laura does not mention angels to Donna; she does not see one disappear from her bedroom painting; Ronette Pulaski does not see one in the train car; and Laura does not see one in the Red Room at the end of the film.) But in Lynch's filmed version, Laura introduces the topic of angels, telling Donna that the angels will not help her, that they've "all gone away." This crucial line (the most important one in the film) establishes Laura's state of mind and shows that she has imposed boundaries on herself.

The added angel line shows that Laura has resigned herself to (and, in fact, expects) a tragic fate. She has given up on herself, asserting that the angels have gone because she cannot—will not—believe she has any value. She is unworthy of salvation.

But Laura is wrong, and Lynch cleverly constructs the Laura-Donna scene to signal her mistake. Lynch shoots the scene using a dramatic camera angle to show that angels do, indeed, watch over Laura. The girls are viewed from high above as they talk--a shot that reflects "an angelic presence," according to Fire Walk With Me cinematographer, Ron Garcia ("Laura Palmer's Phantasmagoric Fall from Grace" by Stephen Pizzello, American Cinematographer, Vol. 73 #9, p. 60). Cinematically, Lynch informs us that the angels have not left. Laura may believe the angels are gone, but it is she who is "gone . . . long gone" (as she explained to James in an earlier scene). Like most Lynch protagonists, Laura has "trapped" herself.

The introduction of the angels in Fire Walk With Me (and Laura's belief they have abandoned her) makes Laura a far more interesting person. She becomes someone with her own flaws and misperceptions. She is someone who must has much to learn and who must come to recognize her own mistakes before she can grow and change—before she can escape the trap in which she has placed herself.

During the murder scene in the train car Laura sees Ronette Pulaski's angel and suddenly she realizes she has been wrong about herself all along. Laura knows that salvation is possible. Having blamed herself for her horrific misfortunes Laura felt she didn't deserve angels. She turned away from them, convincing herself that is was they who had abandoned her. But Ronette's angel proves to Laura that she, too, is a good person and the angels have never left. In this moment her strength returns and her ability to resist Bob is assured. It is also at this moment that Laura undergoes believable and meaningful change.

Laura Takes Action

But—again—once Laura undergoes change she must take some sort of definitive action. The original script to Fire Walk With Me provided no such action. There, Laura is brought to the train car, realizes Bob is about to possess her and accepts that the only escape is death. (This harks back to the series where Laura explicitly states she "had to die because it was the only way to keep Bob away from me.") She takes her only option: She turns to Leland and says, "You have to kill me." She looks at Bob in the mirror and says, "No! You can't have me." Then, again, to Leland she commands, "Kill me." And Leland does.

Lynch probably shot the scene the way it was scripted, assuming that Laura's explicit decision to end her life was a sufficient conclusion to her story. Once it was shot, however, Lynch recognized that such an ending was weak and ultimately unsatisfactory.

As scripted, Laura Palmer—despite her strength of character and her conviction to die—is still incapable of effecting her own fate. Arms bound, she can only order Leland to kill her. The decision may be hers but the crucial act is Leland's. She is dependent on what he does. Leland takes center stage as he performs the ugly but necessary act of murder to free Laura from Bob's possession. Scripted, the scene (and story) is essentially about Leland, not Laura. This was unacceptable to Lynch. The story could only succeed with Laura taking action. He was now faced with a hard reality—he had to re-edit the murder scene and find some way to restore Laura as an active protagonist.

Lynch looked closely at what the existing material allowed: The One Armed Man was outside the train car. His character was connected to the Owl Cave ring. The ring could therefore make its way to Laura and she could put it on. This would allow Laura to perform a decisive action.

The problem was Lynch and Engels had carefully established the ring as a dangerous object earlier in the film. The Little Man boasts of its power to Bob. Teresa Banks once owned the ring and suffered a gruesome death. And Dale Cooper, a clever, intuitive, and above all, reliable character explicitly warns Laura not to take the ring when the Little Man offers it. All this prior evidence clearly points to a dangerous, evil Owl Cave ring.

The ring, however, offered the only possible option for Lynch when he sought to re-work the murder scene.

Remarkably, Lynch saw beyond the narrative constraints imposed by wearing the ring and envisioned a scene of liberation rather than doom. He realized the ring could be viewed as an object of power rather than an object solely of evil. In fact, Laura could be perceived to be stealing the ring from the malevolent beings who wielded it. To accomplish this revision, Lynch would need some new, minor footage to insert into the train car murder scene. Three shots were required: 1) a shot of the ring rolling across a straw-strewn floor; 2) a shot of a woman's hand placing the ring on her other hand; 3) a shot of the hand with the ring held up before a bright white light. These three simple inserts were likely produced after the initial filming of the train car scene. (It is significant that we do not see Al Strobel [who played the one-armed man] throw the ring, nor do we see Sheryl Lee [who played Laura Palmer] put the ring on.) Lynch did not have the luxury or opportunity to reassemble his cast and shoot new material with the actors. So Lynch dramatically altered the murder scene in the editing room.

The final scene was powerful and effective:

Laura sees Ronette's angel sever Ronette's bonds. The ring appears soon after the appearance of the angel and Laura's hands, too, are suddenly free. Laura must know that the ring and angels are connected and that if the ring, itself, is not an angel it serves as a conduit to angels. Realizing all this with sudden clarity Laura embraces the potential of the ring and puts it on. The result is a Lynchian moment of power unleashed, a moment akin to when Henry stabs the baby in Eraserhead, which (according to Lynch scholar Martha Nochimson) sets "in motion a flow of forces." Leland screams, the Little Man shudders, static electricity floods the screen.

Importantly, Laura has taken the ring of her own choice; it has not been imposed upon her. This is why the Little Man is suddenly so afraid; Laura has turned the tables—she has wrested power away from him and Bob. What's more, Laura's choice does more than save her; it gives her victory over Bob and his associates. Laura has stolen their greatest weapon.

A Stronger Film

Despite the restraints of the Fire Walk With Me narrative, David Lynch opened himself to those "valuable opportunities and ideas" that come to him during filming. The "idea" of angels and the "opportunity" of the ring presented themselves and Lynch intuitively knew they were right for Fire Walk With Me and that they made the film "as free and experimental as it could be within the dictates it had to follow." (Lynch on Lynch, edited by Chris Rodley, Faber and Faber, 1997, p. 190.)

Yes, it’s true that Lynch’s new edits introduce ambiguity to the film, and yes, it appears as if Fire Walk With Me abandoned narrative continuity, and yes—multiple valid readings of the film were suddenly made possible. But the new version of the murder scene—the one after Lynch’s edits—becomes more complex, more daring, and more rewarding. The Laura Palmer of the film suddenly becomes different that the Laura Palmer of the series. On the show, Laura reportedly “allowed herself to die;” she submitted to death because it offered the only possible escape from Bob. In the film, however, Laura escapes from Bob before she dies. Her realization of her own goodness—her acceptance of the angels—makes her untouchable. In Fire Walk With Me death is not the means of escape—the means of escape comes from within Laura, herself. And once it does, Laura is decisively and explicitly transformed from dramatic object to dramatic subject. She at last succeeds at becoming what the late, great David Foster Wallace called, a “living and integrated whole.”

A Few Thoughts on True Blood

I'm back from vacation and just in time to catch the season premiere of HBO's True Blood, a series based on the Sookie Stackhouse books by Charlaine Harris. I read the first book in the series, Dead Until Dark, and thought it was OK (the book slumped mightily in the middle, where, chapter after chapter, Sookie pined for Bill and constantly thought about how much she loved him . . . *yawn*) The first season of the series was an improvement over the book but still flawed. I have a hard time buying the premise: Artificial blood (a substance known as True Blood) allows vampires to "come out of the closet" so that they can live openly with humans. And yet throughout the series only Bill seems to have any desire to live peacefully with mankind. All other vampires are portrayed as bloodthirsty monsters that flaunt their superiority and treat humans as playthings. And still the premise of the show hinges on the idea that vampires want to be accepted into society.

Clearly the show is trying to have their vampires both friendly and malevolent. Most vampires are an obvious threat--a dark force holding their power in check, perhaps only temporarily. (This way, Bill is a sympathetic outcast from his own kind and both he and his mortal friends have much to fear from Bill's kin.) But at the same time there is an apparent vampire movement regularly depicted on TV debate shows (with a heavy dose of satire) actively trying to secure vampire rights in society. Their opponents, of course, are stereotypical Christian fundamentalists who see the vampires as the spawn of Satan. Here, then, is one of my main disappointments with True Blood. It is easy to make religious zealots villains. And it's equally easy to draw an analogy between vampires "coming out" and gay rights. It so easy, in fact, that the show takes a potentially serious subtext and makes it rather silly. (I know, I know--True Blood plays for dark laughs much of the time; the humor is part its charm and leavens the violence and brutality on the show. Still, I have a hard time caring about vampire rights when said vampires are killing innocent people left and right.)

It seems to me that the show is ignoring a far more interesting and rich conflict: the probable internal debate inside the vampire community. Surely (if the premise of the show is to be believed) the vampires must fall into opposing camps--those who want live with humans (like Bill) and those who prefer their traditional role as predator (like Eric and the other vampire "officials" we've seen). I'd like to see more of the struggle between these two groups.

Unfortunately the focus of the show is on the somewhat-boring character of Sookie and her love affair with Bill. Like the novel, the show is clearly a mix of genres, most notably horror and mystery but with an equal part romance in there as well. And that's where I lose interest. The Sookie/Bill relationship seems like it's already played itself out and I don't know how much more drama can be found in it. The producers of True Blood seem to know this and have smartly altered and expanded the universe of the Harris books; but as long as the Sookie/Bill relationship is the core of the show I'm afraid True Blood will never be more than a middling HBO series.

True Blood is something of a hit for HBO. I'm happy to see genre TV on the cable network and True Blood is better (so far) than Carnivale (which had the potential to be great before it wandered off into the dreaded wasteland of "make-it-up-as-you-go-along") and I'm glad HBO is looking at genre books for series ideas (they just showed the wonderful No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency based on the mysteries by Alexander McCall Smith and are planning a series based on the high fantasy Song of Ice and Fire books by George R. R. Martin). This is a good thing. But I also want to see some new original programming back on the network. As good as the shows based on books are, nothing so far has been as good as The Sopranos or The Wire or Deadwood.

True Blood will get me through the summer. But I can hardly wait for Mad Men to return to AMC.

My LOST Questions (6 Questions for Season 6)

LOST has an abundance of unresolved questions in its complex and widely scattered narrative and with only one season left fans have to wonder if the show's writers can possibly answer them all. I don't expect them to; in fact, I don't really care about a number of LOST mysteries (i.e., "What are 'the numbers'?") but there a few questions I really want to see resolved: They include:

1) Who are the bodies in the cave? In season one Jack discovers two bodies--essentially skeletons--that may have been there for fifty years. Many people believe these are the bodies of Rose and Bernard, who stayed in 1977 and who may have died about the time of "The Incident." (The two stones--one black and one white--serve as a clue to their identity.) This is the best guess I've seen, but I'd like confirmation from the show.

2) What was the whole deal with Walt? The Others wanted him. He was supposed to be special (Michael's flashback and the Lost "mobisode" show he had some effect on birds). He appeared to Locke at the end of season 3 to help Locke regain his faith in the island. I must know more about why this kid was important.

3) Why/How did Ben get captured? In season 2, Ben is captured in one of Rousseau's traps. Did he get captured by accident or was it deliberate? What about the real Henry Gale and the balloon accident? I want to see this in flashback, please.

4) Where is Claire? Some say she is dead (she died in the explosion at her cabin). This sounds likely. I'm certain we'll get resolution to this question; it's too big to ignore.

5) The smoke monster--what the heck? We know a lot more about it, but not enough to explain why/how it scans people and kills some but not others. It spared Mr. Ecko (once) and Locke. There is evidence that it can take difference shapes/appearances. Certainly it was Ecko's brother, Yemi. Was it also Kate's horse? Or Walt when he appeared to Shannon?

6) What was Libby's real role in the story? Libby was with Hurley in the asylum. She gave Desmond the boat for his race. How or why did she become involved with these characters before the crash of Oceanic 815? I imagine she worked for Widmore, who had plenty of info about the island. Was Widmore employing Libby as his agent? We may never know. Cynthia Watros, who played Libby, has reportedly shown little interest in returning to the show and producer Damon Lindelof has indicated that he may abandon the Libby story if they can't get Watros back. That's too bad. Libby's role seemed significant and I would like this loose end to be tied up.

OK, six questions/topics. I have dozens more, but these will do for now. I hope season six of LOST can live up to the challenge of wrapping up the story!

(Tiny) Bits and Pieces

It's just one of those months. Life is very busy at the moment and when that happens blogging really falls by the wayside.

While I like to provide posts of at least some substance, I'm afraid that for now I'm limiting myself to some comments and some links. Wish I could do more, but personal commitments will have me busy until mid-June. (I'll try to post a few things in the next few weeks, but everything is going to be pretty abridged for now.)

So . . .

Television

Lost had a good season but there seemed to be something missing. I loved the beginning and really liked the time-shifting episodes; but once things settled down in 1977 at the Dharma village the show started to drag a bit. I liked the final episode (and like it better the more I think about it) but we probably can't fully judge it until we see the sixth-season premiere. (I will say the ending was the biggest letdown since season one, though!)

Dollhouse, however, was the biggest surprise of the season. It started so slow I almost tuned out. But then the show found direction and became one of the best science fiction series in years. I look forward to season 2!

Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles was always solid and worthwhile. And Summer Glau's performance was spectacular. The show had great potential but sadly has been canceled.

Reaper has been playing for laughs. The show is good but it has room for heavier storylines. I doubt we'll see more of this series.

Books

For sophisticated, breath-taking science fiction, I highly recommend Mind Over Ship by David Marusek. (But first you need to read Marusek's Counting Heads.) Also, don't miss the classic mystery/thriller The Big Clock by Kenneth Fearing.

David Lynch

I loved this! What if David Lynch had directed Dirty Dancing? Perfect!

Also: Imagine Lynch films (and other great movies) given the Criterion box art treatment! (I love the Fire Walk With Me and Mulholland Drive. And check out Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Eyes Wide Shut. Beautiful.)

Oh, I found the above links at The House Next Door -- a great blog. Speaking of which . . .

David Foster Wallace

The House Next Door has a wonderful interview with Glenn Kenny, the editor of David Foster Wallace's essays for Premiere magazine (including the David Lynch piece). There's also some great behind-the-scenes info about Wallace and Kenny's visit to the Adult Video News Awards (the basis for the essay, "Big Red Son," aka "Neither Adult Nor Entertainment.")

Well, that's all for now. I'll try to post the occasional entry as time permits. (Still reading Beautiful Dark.) I will have more time to write by the middle of June!

Star Trek Thoughts (Briefly)

I've seen Star Trek and liked it immensely. It was fast, funny, and moving. It had all the perfect ingredients to become the most crowd-pleasing of all the Star Trek films. It has also set the bar extremely high for the rest of this year's summer films.

Of course, by that standard, one could argue that Star Trek has now been reduced to nothing more than a summer action film. I think that is something we need to get used to. Star Trek, in the slick and nimble hands of J.J. Abrams, will likely always be about thrills and fun before it is about ideas or concepts.

Make no mistake; the original Star Trek could be thrilling and fun. It often was. But, as I've mentioned before, the driving theme behind Star Trek was always exploration and discovery. Now, much of that crucial aspect of Star Trek is probably gone. As a hard-core Science Fiction and Star Trek fan I must come to terms with this.

Meanwhile, there are lots of good and interesting things to say about this new film. I'm really not unhappy at all. I think this new Star Trek franchise is bound to be great entertainment. The reboot was handled well and the "future" looks bright!

(And here I'll say that the Star Trek universe kinda' got what it deserved. After a persistent reliance on gimmicky and shaky time-travel stories in which the "present" was constantly threatened by alterations to the past--alterations which had to be corrected in order to restore the proper "time line"--the Star Trek milieu has at last been permanently altered by time travel. Hasn't the future of the Federation been irrevocably erased given all the "rules" so diligently set down in the countless time travel stories of the series and films? Let's just say it has. Now: Please! Please! No more time travel stories!)

Oh and one last unusual and highly dubious observation for those Twin Peaks fans who might still be reading: Star Trek was a prequel, but one that relied on events from a series set chronologically "later." In some ways the film closed a circle. It showed us what happened "before," but it was inextricably linked to what had "already happened" in the future. Sounds like another TV-series-prequel-film, doesn't it?

Beautiful Dark Chapter 8: Twin Peaks:S2 and Fire Walk With Me

When I bought Greg Olson's Beautiful Dark last October, Chapter 8 was what I was most looking forward to. This is the chapter where Olson discusses the one David Lynch film I have truly studied in-depth: Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. I was tempted, back then, to read the chapter first, before I read any other part of the book. But my sense of duty to Olson's work compelled me to wait, to read the book in order. So now here I am, half-way through the book with the most fascinating chapter Olson has written yet.

Olson begins the book with a concluding look at the critical reaction to Wild At Heart. (It is here that Olson defends the film against complaints of excessiveness. I won't get into a lengthy rebuttal to Olson, other than to say that I think Wild At Heart is excessive and that much of the criticism leveled at the film is quite justified.)

Olson then looks closely at the second season of Twin Peaks with a focus on Lynch's contributions to the series. Olson's summaries and analyses are all very good but there is nothing terribly surprising about his account of the second season. The rise and fall of Twin Peaks is well known even to casual fans. The show lost its way in the second season and there all sorts of reasons why: Lynch was not as involved in production; Kyle MacLachlan objected to the proposed Cooper/Audrey romance; ABC pre-empted the show too often. What was new, were some candid observations from Mark Frost who, as Olson notes, takes much of the responsibility for the show's loss of direction: "I regret my decision to not be there [during the latter part of the show's second season]. And that's where we dropped the ball." (p. 364)

Olson provides a brief examination of Twin Peaks' stunning final episode, describing how Lynch returned to the series and was "determined to give Twin Peaks a final jolt of magic and poetry" (p. 360.). This part of the chapter is crucial and much-appreciated. Too often the final episode of Twin Peaks is overlooked by critics who forget there is a gem deep in the wastelands of the second season. The final episode is one of series' major achievements and, by itself, is arguably one of Lynch's great short-films. Luckily, Olson is well aware of the power of the final episode and devotes a number of pages of description and analysis.

Olson then moves on to his examination of Fire Walk With Me. It is here, at the heart of the chapter--and the heart of the book--that Olson supplies a valuable contribution to the study of FWWM. Olson had access to location shooting for FWWM in Washington State in 1991. As a result, he had the unique experience of watching Lynch and the actors (such as Sheryl Lee, Dana Ashbrook, Kyle MacLachlan and Ray Wise) shoot some of the film's critical scenes. Olson observed the process Lynch uses with actors to rehearse lines, to develop a scene, and to find that perfect "Lynchian" moment that makes it to the screen. Olson's reporting from the location of FWWM is new, exciting and informative.

Personally, I relish any new writing about FWWM. This is why I so appreciated Olson's first-person account of his days and nights on location with the production. But this may also be why I was somewhat disappointed by Olson's analysis of the film. While he does provide abundant detail about the plot and themes of FWWM, Olson ultimately falls back to the most common interpretation of the movie: that Laura Palmer chooses death to stop BOB from tormenting her: "Her primal need is to save herself from BOB, and to do so she must die" (p. 390). Olson briefly considers--and just as quickly dismisses--the idea that Laura may be doing more than merely saving herself, that she might be trying to defeat Bob: "Laura [is] in a position that . . . echoes the position of ancient Tibetan Buddhist nuns who . . . personally engaged and grappled with devouring demons in order to keep the world safe from harm. However, Laura is not a sacrificial lamb with a martyr complex." (p. 390) Well, of course not, but isn't Laura something more than a teenager who has been abused? Isn't BOB more than a mere figment of her imagination? Isn't their conflict far more complex than it appears?

There is a lot going on in FWWM and in order to make sense of the Owl Cave ring and the angels and the Red Room and the garmonbozia, one has to look past the surface story of Laura Palmer to see a bigger story at play. At some point Laura Palmer did just that--she saw something happening that was larger than herself. And while she may not have become a "sacrificial lamb" who martyred herself, she became more than a mere victim of BOB--she became his opponent. This (to me) is why she takes the ring. She denies him the kind of power he has gained through his alliance with Arm (the Little Man from Another Place). This also helps explain the presence of the angels and Laura's misunderstanding (until the end) of her own goodness as a force against evil.

Few critics (even those who are pre-disposed to Lynch) give much thought to Fire Walk With Me. Many dismiss it as a weak epilog to a failed TV series. But FWWM is a rich and powerful film that requires a lot of critical thinking to decode, a lot of serious study to access its secrets. The difficulty of FWWM prompted Lynch-critic Michel Chion to write about the film: "[It] operates on an impenetrable, unreadable surface . . . . It is seamless; there is no way in." (Michel Chion, David Lynch, (BFI Publishing, 1995), p. 157)

But FWWM is not impenetrable. Daunting, perhaps, and, like the final episode of Twin Peaks, easy to dismiss--but not impenetrable. Olson has proven to be a perceptive and adept Lynch critic (he may be one of the best Lynch analysts out there) but he seems to glide over FWWM without the deep consideration he has given to Lynch's other works. Surprisingly, he has chosen to make FWWM one part of one chapter in a book about David Lynch. But maybe the film needed a little more discussion, a little more time devoted to it. Perhaps it would have been more fitting to give Fire Walk With Me a chapter of its own.