Day Two Hundred and Ninety-six - Twin Peaks: Season 2, Episode 14, "Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!"

Hoo-boy, and I thought yesterday was a bad night for Twin Peaks and its second season doldrums. In comparison, it almost feels like a pleasant dream. We are quite figuratively reaching critical soap opera mass here in terms of terrible writing and loss of atmosphere.

Where the Agent Cooper of old would rely on obscure practices and folksy wisdom, he now pontificates on times past, reeling off exposition at the drop of a hat but never going anywhere with it. And it's not just him doing so. I've heard more cheesy soap monologues in the last forty minutes than I've heard in the entirety of the rest of the episodes previous combined... and they're bad ones at that.

What... is... happening?

It's like everything that made the series wonderful, mysterious, and stylish has been sucked out of the production like so much marrow from a bone (please forgive the horrendous simile). While the show only occasionally bordered on genius, at least you could always count on it to make you think or scratch your head in confusion at the wacky symbolism and visions. Or you used to be able to, anyway.

Guh.

Coop, newly deputized while he remains on suspension (despite being cleared of all charges), begins investigating the corpse that Windham Earle has left as his move in their chess game. Instead of throwing rocks at a bottle or something else equally ridiculous (but effective) all Cooper does is say he's at a loss... then confesses (in a monologue) to plot and backstory.

Then there's Doc Hayward who does pretty much the same thing about Andy and Dick's orphan problem child, Little Nicky, giving a long, rambling sob story that brings both men to tears. Add to that James and his stupid side story coming to fruition (with a monologue from his black widow lover) and I can't help but wonder if Lynch had literally run out of ideas and was just winging it with cliches and hack writing. Oh, and Leo is up and ambulatory... but more a Frankenstein's Monster than a Jack Torrence, lumbering about as he is with that axe.

Seriously... this is the worst prime time television writing that I have ever witnessed. I could almost forgive it for a meta sort of self-awareness, but they're betraying so much character development that had been building these past twenty or so episodes that I can't even blame the network for canceling. I think that I blacked out all memory of just how bad it got since the last time I watched the series (marathoning my sister's VHS tapes well over a decade ago).

I mean... wow... just, wow.

Thinking back, there's not a single moment of this episode that I enjoyed. The only thing that looked vaguely interesting was when Lucy swatted the fly and left a huge, bloody smear... but not even The Owls were able to pull me up tonight.

We're in troubled times, my friends. Troubled times, indeed, and I'm starting to feel desperate. The only thing keeping me sane is the light at the end of the tunnel that is November, but that will only bring upon me a new, even worse madness (NaNoWriMo). We'll see if I survive.

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~