Thursday, April 08, 2010

"She's dead. Wrapped in plastic."

Ian Rogers and the good folks over at Biff Bam Pop! tipped me to the fact that today is the twentieth anniversary of the initial broadcast of Twin Peaks, my all-time favorite TV show, and perhaps the single greatest pop-culture influence on my life. (Yes, ahead of Star Wars.) Biff Bam Pop! is commemorating the occasion with a series of posts dedicated to all things Twin Peaks; you can read Ian's contribution here. And on that post, you'll find my comment, which I've reproduced below, because it encapsulates my love for this tremendous, tremendous series (with, okay, an edit or two. I'm a writer; I can't help myself.) Anyways, here goes:

I grew up a fan of mysteries, mostly handed down from my grandfather, a city cop. But I spent my youth in the country, and as a kid I realized there were no mysteries that I felt did justice to small-town life. Grit was for big cities; small-town crime was always portrayed as straightforward and quaint.

Twin Peaks was a revelation for me. It captured the darkness and weirdness that lurks beneath the surface of any small town. It synthesized something new from the detective tales, horror, and fantasy I held dear, and it did so with a sense of humor and offbeat charm too often lacking from television. And my exposure to it at an early age shaped my fiction, my musical tastes, my sense of humor, more even than I probably know.

I watched the full run when it was on. I've owned the show on VHS, the pilot on import-only European DVD, and now the complete DVD series (mostly thanks to the gift-giving acumen of my lovely wife). I introduced it to said lovely wife on VHS, and then to my roommates years back in Virginia when Bravo aired it in its entirety. And I've never tired of it, because watching it's like coming home.

And I do believe I'll watch me some today...