Middle Chicken abandoned me for a weekend wedding in DC leaving this girl nothing to do but drown in Netflix offerings. What catches the eye? Twin Peaks. Any doll of a certain age remembers the mystery of who killed Laura Palmer, Agent Dale Cooper, Audrey’s eyebrow perfection and the Log Lady, non?
It is a walk down memory lane to be sure. Agent Dale is no less swoon worthy than he was twenty years ago. The Norwegian, at the time, seemed non-plussed at my fascination for the FBI agent and his slick hair, perfectly tailored suits and impeccable manners. Remember what they say—a man in a tailored suit is to women what lingerie is to men. In other words, suits just might make her pants fall off.
Shoulder pads are de riguer and I am transported to my reporter suits with linebacker- sized pads and pleated skirts. Thank the fashion gods we have not returned to a time when many colored hose (not tights), mostly light black hues, were the style. It remains ghastly, as do the shades of grey and white. Whaaa? I know right?
The ladies, even in the tiny town of Twin Peaks, are elegant despite their mall bangs. They smoke cigarettes with pointed talons and are never distracted from conversation by a cellphone. Men stand up when a woman leaves the table and are also known to push women onto couches for emphasis. It’s enough to leave a girl simply breathless.
We met Sherilyn Fenn and are forced to watch Two Moon Junction, her foray into film and nudity. Despite the body, we remain mesmerized by those eyebrows. Many an hour of my twenties was spent trying to perfect that arch. No luck. We also got to know Lara Flynn Boyle before she began starving herself and nip tucking her face into non-recognition. In real life she even dated Agent Dale during filming. Hmmm.
If you haven’t watched in a while, it’s worth the trip back. David Lynch’s eerie take on the world is the stuff for which all writers strive. Characters like the dancing little man who speaks backwards, a woman with messages from a log and Leo in a dog collar are the creations of edgy nightmares. It almost makes one want to watch one of Lynch’s film offerings.
Blue Velvet comes to mind, but alas, I am alone. No way in hell am I watching that nightmare by myself.
The Duchess Diaries 