Hysterical Literature: Art & Sexuality Collide in Readings of Whitman, Emerson & Other Greats (NSFW)

With­out shame the man I like knows and avows the deli­cious­ness of his sex, 

With­out shame the woman I like knows and avows hers.

Thus spaketh Walt Whit­man in Leaves of Grass. 160 years after that poem’s pub­li­ca­tion, how might that most Amer­i­can of Amer­i­can Roman­tics react to the spec­ta­cle of an attrac­tive young woman plea­sur­ing her­self with his work, as an unseen hand beneath the table sur­rep­ti­tious­ly plea­sures her with the Cadil­lac of vibra­tors?

The peep­hole is much larg­er than it would’ve been in 1855. Hys­ter­i­cal Lit­er­a­ture was con­ceived as an online project in which each session’s fea­tured female par­tic­i­pant choos­es a res­o­nant text, then reads it aloud until a Hitachi Mag­ic Wand puts an end to her abil­i­ty to form coher­ent sen­tences.

Cre­ator Clay­ton Cubitt has com­plained that the orgas­mic ele­ment and the sta­tus of cer­tain celebri­ty par­tic­i­pants like come­di­an Mar­garet Cho  have pre­oc­cu­pied the press. His pref­er­ence is for view­ers to take a more holis­tic approach, view­ing the expe­ri­ence with some “mys­tery and mag­ic and ‘WTF.’”

Accord­ing­ly, let us focus upon some of the select­ed works:

Beloved by Toni Mor­ri­son

Sex­ing the Cher­ry by Jeanette Win­ter­son

The Necrophil­ia Vari­a­tions by Super­vert

Real­ly, no Anaïs Nin? I would’ve thought…

The most recent con­trib­u­tor to the series is also its old­est, 60-year-old Janet, below, who had to take leave of Whitman’s pal, Ralph Wal­do Emer­son, not once but twice in eight min­utes.

Cumu­la­tive­ly, these ses­sions make a mar­velous­ly frank primer for actors or direc­tors charged with cre­at­ing real­is­tic sex scenes. The dichoto­my of Hys­ter­i­cal Lit’s stag­ing ensures that things are fair­ly respectable above the waist, thus sat­is­fy­ing YouTube’s Com­mu­ni­ty Guide­lines.

Dar­ing female lovers of lit­er­a­ture should be advised that Cubitt seeks to include more women of col­or, old­er par­tic­i­pants, and non-Eng­lish texts. No word on who exact­ly is under that table. Drain your pent-up rivers by apply­ing here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read Fan­ny Hill, the 18th-Cen­tu­ry Erot­ic Nov­el That Went to the Supreme Court in the 20th Cen­tu­ry

This is Your Brain on Sex and Reli­gion: Exper­i­ments in Neu­ro­science

An Intro­duc­tion to World Lit­er­a­ture by a Cast Of Lit­er­ary & Aca­d­e­m­ic Stars (Free Course)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Quentin Tarantino Lists His 20 Favorite Spaghetti Westerns

Like many film fans, I grew up famil­iar with the term “Spaghet­ti west­ern,” but I’d near­ly reached adult­hood before fig­ur­ing out what, exact­ly, Amer­i­ca’s most pop­u­lar Ital­ian dish had to do with Amer­i­ca’s once-most pop­u­lar movie genre. But even if they don’t know the spe­cif­ic def­i­n­i­tion of a Spaghet­ti west­ern, those who enjoy them know a Spaghet­ti west­ern when they see one. Ser­gio Leone’s A Fist­ful of Dol­lars, For a Few Dol­lars More, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly; Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci’s Min­neso­ta Clay and Djan­go; Enzo Bar­boni’s They Call Me Trin­i­ty and Trin­i­ty Is Still My Name — if a pic­ture belongs in that com­pa­ny, nobody doubts it.

You’ll notice that all those direc­tors have Ital­ian names, and indeed, west­ern all’i­tal­iana, the Ital­ian equiv­a­lent of “Spaghet­ti west­ern,” sim­ply means “Ital­ian-style west­ern.” These Ital­ian-pro­duced tales of the law­less 19th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­can west, some­times fea­tur­ing fad­ing or ris­ing Hol­ly­wood stars (as with the young Clint East­wood, who would become iden­ti­fied with Leone’s “Man with No Name”), and often shot in the Span­ish desert, rode high from the mid-1960s to the ear­ly 70s, bring­ing a fresh sen­si­bil­i­ty and vis­cer­al impact which had for the most part drained out of the home­grown vari­ety.

Trust a genre-lov­ing auteur like Quentin Taran­ti­no (and one who made his very own Djan­go a few years back) to know Spaghet­ti west­erns inside and out. While even those of us who nev­er turn down the chance to enjoy a good Spaghet­ti west­ern might strug­gle to name ten of them, Taran­ti­no can eas­i­ly run down his per­son­al top twen­ty:

  1. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (Ser­gio Leone, 1966)
  2. For a Few Dol­lars More (Ser­gio Leone, 1965)
  3. Djan­go (Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci, 1966)
  4. The Mer­ce­nary (Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci, 1966)
  5. Once Upon a Time in the West (Ser­gio Leone, 1968)
  6. A Fist­ful of Dol­lars (Ser­gio Leone, 1964)
  7. Day of Anger (Toni­no Valerii, 1967)
  8. Death Rides a Horse (Giulio Petroni, 1967)
  9. Nava­jo Joe (Ser­gio Corbucci,1966)
  10. The Return of Ringo (Duc­cio Tes­sar, 1965)
  11. The Big Gun­down (Ser­gio Sol­li­ma, 1966)
  12. A Pis­tol for Ringo (Duc­cio Tes­sari, 1965)
  13. The Dirty Out­laws (Fran­co Ros­set­ti, 1967)
  14. The Great Silence (Ser­gio Cor­buc­ci, 1968)
  15. The Grand Duel (Gian­car­lo San­ti, 1972)
  16. Shoot the Liv­ing, Pray for the Dead (Giuseppe Vari, 1971)
  17. Tepepa (Giulio Petroni, 1968)
  18. The Ugly Ones (Euge­nio Mar­tin, 1966)
  19. Viva Djan­go! (Fer­di­nan­do Bal­di, 1967)
  20. Machine Gun Killers (Pao­lo Bian­chi­ni, 1968)

You can watch all the trail­ers of these Spaghet­ti west­ern mas­ter­pieces in the playlist above, cre­at­ed by The Spaghet­ti West­ern Data­base. Some may now strike you as dis­arm­ing­ly straight­for­ward about bal­ly­hoo­ing the excite­ment promised by the fea­ture they adver­tise, and you may find oth­ers sur­pris­ing­ly fun­ny and more self-aware. While I defy any­one to watch the entire playlist of trail­ers with­out want­i­ng to dive into this sur­pris­ing­ly lit­tle-explored tra­di­tion, noth­ing gets me quite as excit­ed about watch­ing a movie — old or new, sub­tle or schlocky, genre or oth­er­wise — as Taran­ti­no’s con­ta­gious cinephil­ia.

via The Spaghet­ti West­ern Data­base

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Tarantino’s Top 20 Grindhouse/Exploitation Flicks: Night of the Liv­ing Dead, Hal­loween & More

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists the 12 Great­est Films of All Time: From Taxi Dri­ver to The Bad News Bears

Quentin Tarantino’s Hand­writ­ten List of the 11 “Great­est Movies”

Watch John Wayne Star in 25 Clas­sic West­erns: All Free Online

The Great Train Rob­bery: Where West­erns Began

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Akira Kurosawa Used Movement to Tell His Stories: A Video Essay

The his­to­ry books say that there were three Japan­ese film­mak­ers to emerge in the 1950s – Ken­ji Mizoguchi, Yasu­jiro Ozu and Aki­ra Kuro­sawa. Nev­er mind that Mizoguchi and Ozu made many of their best movies in the 1930s. Nev­er mind that mas­ter­ful, inno­v­a­tive direc­tors like Mikio Naruse and Keisuke Kinoshi­ta have been unfair­ly over­shad­owed by the bril­liance of these three greats.

Mizoguchi was an ear­ly mod­ernist who by the end of his career made med­i­ta­tive movies about how women suf­fer at the hands of men. His mas­ter­pieces like Uget­su and San­sho Dayu feel like Bud­dhist scroll paint­ings come to life. Ozu, “the most Japan­ese” of all film­mak­ers, made qui­et­ly mov­ing dra­mas about fam­i­lies, like Tokyo Sto­ry, but did so in a way that dis­card­ed such Hol­ly­wood prin­ci­ples as con­ti­nu­ity edit­ing and the 180 degree rule. Ozu was a qui­et rad­i­cal.

Com­pared to Ozu and Mizoguchi, Kurosawa’s movies are noisy, mas­cu­line and vital. Unlike Ozu, he didn’t chal­lenge Hol­ly­wood film form but improved on it. Born rough­ly a decade after the oth­er two film­mak­ers, Kuro­sawa spent his youth watch­ing West­ern movies, absorb­ing the lessons of his cin­e­mat­ic heroes like John Ford, Howard Hawks and Frank Capra. At his cre­ative height, in the 1950s and 60s, Kuro­sawa pro­duced mas­ter­piece after mas­ter­piece. Hol­ly­wood would remake or ref­er­ence Kuro­sawa con­stant­ly in the years that fol­lowed but few of those films had Kurosawa’s inven­tive­ness.

Tony Zhou, who has made a career of dis­sect­ing movies in his excel­lent video series Every Frame a Pic­ture, argues that the key to Kuro­sawa is move­ment. “A Kuro­sawa movie moves like no one else’s,” Zhou notes in his video. “Each one is a mas­ter class in dif­fer­ent types of motion and also ways to com­bine them.”

Kuro­sawa had an innate under­stand­ing that there is inher­ent dra­ma in the wind blow­ing in the trees. Like Andrei Tarkovsky and lat­er Ter­rence Mal­ick, he liked to place human dra­ma square­ly in the realm of nature. The rain falls, a fire rages and that move­ment makes an image com­pelling. He under­stood that graph­ic con­sid­er­a­tions out­weighed psy­cho­log­i­cal ones – he sim­pli­fied and exag­ger­at­ed a character’s move­ment with the frame to make char­ac­ter traits and emo­tions easy to reg­is­ter for the audi­ence. His cam­era move­ments were clear, moti­vat­ed and flu­id. Zhou com­pares Sev­en Samu­rai with The Avengers. You might have thought that The Avengers was unin­spired and soul­less but after watch­ing Zhou’s video, you’ll under­stand why – aside from the sil­ly plot and char­ac­ters – the movie was unin­spired and soul­less. The piece should be required view­ing for film­mak­ers every­where. You can watch it above.

And below you can see anoth­er video Zhou did on Kuro­sawa, focus­ing on his 1960 movie The Bad Sleep Well.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Watch Kurosawa’s Rashomon Free Online, the Film That Intro­duced Japan­ese Cin­e­ma to the West

David Lynch Lists His Favorite Films & Direc­tors, Includ­ing Felli­ni, Wilder, Tati & Hitch­cock

Andrei Tarkovsky Cre­ates a List of His 10 Favorite Films (1972)

Stan­ley Kubrick’s List of Top 10 Films (The First and Only List He Ever Cre­at­ed)

Lis­ten to François Truffaut’s Big, 12-Hour Inter­view with Alfred Hitch­cock (1962)

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa & Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la Star in Japan­ese Whisky Com­mer­cials (1980)

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

The Touching Story Behind Paraguay’s Landfill Orchestra: Now Told in Film, and Soon a Book

Back in 2012, I first told you about the amaz­ing youth cham­ber orches­tra from Cateu­ra, Paraguay. The fam­i­lies from this small impov­er­ished town, locat­ed along­side a vast land­fill, can’t afford many lux­u­ries — like buy­ing instru­ments for their kids. But what they lack in mon­ey, they make up for in inge­nu­ity and good spir­it. The short doc­u­men­tary above gives you a glimpse of their touch­ing sto­ry, show­ing how cre­ative lead­ers in the com­mu­ni­ty fash­ioned instru­ments with their own hands, turn­ing oil cans into cel­los, and alu­minum bowls into vio­lins. Watch them in action:

But why stop with the short sto­ry, when you can get the longer sto­ry. Last week, a full blown film called Land­fill Har­mon­ic pre­miered at the SXSW Film Fes­ti­val 2015. And now the film (see a short trail­er here) will be screened at select­ed film fes­ti­vals while the pro­duc­ers try to find a dis­trib­u­tor who can bring the pro­duc­tion to a wider audi­ence. And, in anoth­er piece of good news, Simon & Schus­ter announced that it plans to pub­lish a pic­ture book about the Recy­cled Orches­tra. Look for Ada’s Vio­lin: The Sto­ry of the Recy­cled Orches­tra of Paraguay in March 2016.

You can watch Land­fill Har­mon­ic at the fes­ti­vals men­tioned below. To keep tabs on future show­ings, fol­low this Face­book page.

  • New York Children’s Film Fes­ti­val March 21, 2015
  • Envi­ron­men­tal Film Fes­ti­val DC March 25, 2015
  • TIFF Kid’s Film Fes­ti­val April 10 – 17, 2015

A Mesmerizing Supercut of the First and Final Frames of 55 Movies, Played Side by Side

On his Vimeo page, Jacob T. Swin­ney frames his pret­ty remark­able super­cut with these words:

What can we learn by exam­in­ing only the first and final shot of a film? This video plays the open­ing and clos­ing shots of 55 films side-by-side. Some of the open­ing shots are strik­ing­ly sim­i­lar to the final shots, while oth­ers are vast­ly different–both serv­ing a pur­pose in com­mu­ni­cat­ing var­i­ous themes. Some show progress, some show decline, and some are sim­ply impact­ful images used to begin and end a film.

Below the jump, you can find a com­plete list of the films used in the super­cut, some released long ago (Dr. Strangelove), some more recent­ly (Bird­man). It was while watch­ing Gone Girl in the cin­e­ma that Swin­ney first came up with the idea for the clip. He start­ed “by choos­ing movies that pos­sessed either very sim­i­lar or very con­trast­ing opening/closing shots.” Then, he adds, “I decid­ed to expand a bit to include films that show a sto­ry of sorts with just the first and final shots. Basi­cal­ly, if an open­ing and clos­ing shot stuck with me, I includ­ed it.” You can find more videos by Swin­ney over on Vimeo.

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Take a “Breath” and Watch Samuel Beckett’s One-Minute Play

As Samuel Beckett’s writ­ing pro­gressed through the ’60s, it became even more min­i­mal, despair­ing, and bleak. It was as if he was par­ing away as much as he could to see if the­ater was left stand­ing. If a paint­ing could be one col­or like Ad Rein­hardt, what would be the Rein­hardt of the­ater? Jonathan Crow men­tioned yes­ter­day how Beck­et­t’s 1969 play Breath, for instance, “runs just a minute long and fea­tures just the sound of breath­ing.” There is a bit more to it than that. Not a lot more, but yes, more. Here’s the play’s script in full:

Cur­tain.

1. Faint light on stage lit­tered with mis­cel­la­neous rub­bish.  Hold for about five sec­onds.

2.  Faint brief cry and imme­di­ate­ly inspi­ra­tion and slow increase of light togeth­er reach­ing max­i­mum togeth­er in about ten sec­onds.  Silence and hold about five sec­onds.

3.  Expi­ra­tion and slow decrease of light togeth­er reach­ing min­i­mum togeth­er (light as in I) in about ten sec­onds and imme­di­ate­ly cry as before.  Silence and hold for about five sec­onds.

Beck­ett adds some notes:

Rub­bish.  No ver­ti­cals, all scat­tered and lying.

Cry.  Instant of record­ed vagi­tus.  Impor­tant that two cries be iden­ti­cal, switch­ing on and off strict­ly syn­chro­nized light and breath.

Breath.  Ampli­fied record­ing.

Max­i­mum light.  Not bright.  If 0 = dark and 10 = bright, light should move from about 3 to 6 and back.

The play came about when one of the most impor­tant Eng­lish the­ater crit­ics of his time Ken­neth Tynan asked for short skits for an erot­ic revue he was putting on in 1969, called Oh! Cal­cut­ta. Oth­ers invi­tees includ­ed Jules Feif­fer, John Lennon, Edna O’Brien, Jacques Levy, Sam Shep­ard, and Leonard Melfi. The plan was to per­form each skit but keep each writer’s name a secret. Beck­ett report­ed­ly wrote the play on a post­card and sent it to Tynan, then became enraged when he heard that instead of rub­bish on stage, Tynan had used naked bod­ies *and* in fact had explic­it­ly cred­it­ed Beck­ett in the pro­gram. Breath wouldn’t get a prop­er stag­ing until 1999 in London’s West End, as part of an evening with Beckett’s more sub­stan­tial Krapp’s Last Tape. You can read reports of how the audi­ence react­ed.

Sev­er­al direc­tors have brought Breath to life. Artist Damien Hirst had a go for the 2002 Beck­ett on Film project. As seen above, his ver­sion has very spec­tac­u­lar rub­bish gath­ered from a hos­pi­tal and, glimpsed in the final sec­onds, a cig­a­rette butt swasti­ka.

Below, check out a more “tra­di­tion­al” inter­pre­ta­tion of the play from the Nation­al The­atre School of Canada’s Tech Pro­duc­tion class. After that comes a repeat of Hirst’s ver­sion, and then one more alter­na­tive, Dar­ren Smyth’s 2009 TV sta­t­ic-filled attempt. (The rest of the video is a mixed bag of the Alan Par­sons Project and a Tim Bur­ton short, don’t ask why.)

Despite Beckett’s morose rep­u­ta­tion, there’s always a black humor under­neath it all. And if you’re going to ask the man to write an “erot­ic skit,” this is what you get, the futil­i­ty of life from womb to tomb in a minute.

Final­ly, you can watch an infor­ma­tive mini lec­ture on the play, pre­sent­ed by Dr. Cather­ine Brown for the New Col­lege of the Human­i­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Open­ing Cred­its of an Imag­i­nary 70s Cop Show Star­ring Samuel Beck­ett

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

Watch Meryl Streep Have Fun with Accents: Bronx, Polish, Irish, Australian, Yiddish & More

Meryl Streep, fre­quent­ly hailed as one of our Great­est Liv­ing Actress­es — she claims there’s no such thing — com­mands a near-ency­clo­pe­dic mas­tery of accents.

Oth­ers may pre­pare for their roles by work­ing with a dialect coach or lis­ten­ing to tapes of native speak­ers, but Streep push­es to the lim­it, as indi­cat­ed in the con­ver­sa­tion with author Andre Dubus III, below.

She not only learned Pol­ish in order to play a trou­bled Holo­caust sur­vivor in Sophie’s Choice, she thought deeply about the way gen­der roles and peri­od inform vocal pre­sen­ta­tion.

Clear­ly a lot of effort goes into the per­for­mances that leave British crit­ics cheer­ing Streep as she sails above play­ing fields lit­tered with Amer­i­can actors who dared attempt Eng­lish accents.

Her com­mit­ment to her craft is inad­ver­tent­ly to blame for pop­u­lar­iz­ing the phrase “dingo’s got my baby.”

How refresh­ing that this ver­sa­tile and accom­plished actor is not pre­cious about her skills. She game­ly trot­ted them out for the come­di­an Ellen DeGeneres’ par­lor game, above. Looks like fun, pro­vid­ed one’s not an intro­vert. Each play­er draws a card labelled with an accent, sticks it to the brim of a sil­ly hat, then tried to guess the accent, based on her partner’s impromp­tu per­for­mance.

“Brook­lyn?” Streep gig­gles when the Louisiana-born DeGeneres has a go at Boston.

Her stab at the Bronx shows off her improv chops far bet­ter than the most recent stunt DeGeneres roped her into.

(For what it’s worth, Ben Affleck also excelled at this game. The late Robin Williams was less con­vinc­ing, but char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly irre­press­ible, even when called upon to imper­son­ate speak­ers of oth­er races.)

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and low bud­get the­ater impre­sario. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Elementary School Students Perform in a Play Inspired by David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

david lynch school play

Image by Janet McMil­lan appeared in The Mil­wau­kee Record

For those of us with kids, the grade school play is usu­al­ly a com­bi­na­tion of parental pride and teeth-grat­ing nos­tal­gic civic les­son and/or Bible study. Not so at Mil­wau­kee, WI’s High­land Com­mu­ni­ty School where super cool dra­ma teacher Bar­ry Weber has writ­ten and pro­duced Judy Plays with Fire, a love let­ter to David Lynch and Mark Frost’s Twin Peaks and oth­er Lyn­chophil­ia.

The play has all the hall­marks of the director–red cur­tains, strobe lights, smoke machines, a Badala­men­ti-esque score–along with a back­wards-speak­ing char­ac­ter in a red suit, two earnest and upstand­ing detec­tives, lum­ber­jacks, rab­bits, mys­te­ri­ous peo­ple in white masks, a Log Lady-like char­ac­ter who talks to a Slinky, and a mid­dle Amer­i­ca town called “Cen­ter­ville” that, like Lau­ra Palmer, is “full of secrets.” One char­ac­ter mimes Nina Simone’s “Don’t Let Me Be Under­stood” into a LED wand–shades of Dean Stock­well in Blue Vel­vet. Char­ac­ter names like Mr. Frost and the MacLach­lans nod to the cre­ators and actors behind Twin Peaks. The entire cast is played by 4th, 5th, and 6th graders, and apart from Mr. Weber, the pro­duc­tion is crewed by High­land stu­dents as well.

This isn’t Weber’s first go at push­ing the bound­aries of school the­ater. His stu­dent the­ater group put on 2014’s ZERO, a cyber­punk tale, and a post-apoc­a­lyp­tic zom­bie pro­duc­tion in 2010 called Pen­guin Attack.
The pro­duc­tion got the atten­tion of the Mil­wau­kee Record who sent reporter Matt Wild out to see the three per­for­mance run that fin­ished last Fri­day. He even gave it a bit of a Vari­ety-style review, say­ing that

“In the case of Judy, (Maeve) Haley is ter­rif­ic as the inquis­i­tive Coop­er sur­ro­gate, though diminu­tive CJ Young steals the show as the schem­ing Mr. Frost. Whether he’s bark­ing orders to his flunkies or lord­ing over his ani­ma­tron­ic house band, Young—who had to take time off from act­ing two years ago due to con­flicts with bas­ket­ball practice—imbues his char­ac­ter with a sur­pris­ing amount of grav­i­tas and men­ace.”

Matt Wild also talked to Weber, who spoke of his desire to give kids more chal­leng­ing works.

“I want to make sure that when I write the scripts there are no ‘trees,’” Weber says, ref­er­enc­ing grade school plays that often give stu­dents thank­less roles as inan­i­mate objects. “I want to write the kind of plays that as a kid I would have real­ly want­ed to do. I cer­tain­ly didn’t know who David Lynch was when I was a kid, but I’m sure I would have real­ly enjoyed it.”

No video has sur­faced yet to match the intrigu­ing pro­duc­tion stills, but we’re on the look­out. In the mean­time, how well do you know Judy?

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

Relat­ed Con­tent

David Lynch Falls in Love: A Clas­sic Scene From Twin Peaks

The Paint­ings of Filmmaker/Visual Artist David Lynch

Watch David Lynch’s Hotel Room: The Com­plete Minis­eries Fea­tur­ing Har­ry Dean Stan­ton, Grif­fin Dunne, and Crispin Glover (1993)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

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