Three Days in Twin Peaks: An In-Depth Journey Through the Evocative Locations of David Lynch’s TV Series

After a time of great per­son­al loss, a friend of mine set off on a road trip around the Unit­ed States. When I lat­er asked what part of the coun­try had made the deep­est impres­sion on him, he named a few towns about thir­ty miles east of Seat­tle: the shoot­ing loca­tions, he hard­ly need­ed tell a fel­low David Lynch fan, of Twin Peaks. Raised in Spokane, Wash­ing­ton, among a vari­ety of oth­er mod­est Amer­i­can cities, Lynch saw clear­ly the look and feel of the tit­u­lar set­ting by the time he co-cre­at­ed the show with writer Mark Frost. He even­tu­al­ly found it in the Wash­ing­ton­ian towns of Sno­qualmie, North Bend and Fall City, which even today offer a friend­ly recep­tion to the occa­sion­al Twin Peaks pil­grim — at least accord­ing to my friend.

This was more recent­ly cor­rob­o­rat­ed by Jere­mi­ah Beaver, cre­ator of Youtube “Twin Peaks the­o­ry and analy­sis show” Take the Ring. Thir­ty years after the pre­miere of the famous­ly cryp­tic yet trans­fix­ing orig­i­nal series, the Indi­anapo­lis-based Beaver made the trip to Wash­ing­ton to vis­it its every remain­ing loca­tion — as well as those used in the 1992 pre­quel film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, 2017’s Twin Peaks: The Return, and even these pro­duc­tions’ delet­ed scenes.

Into the half-hour-long “Three Days in Twin Peaks” Beaver fits a great deal of infor­ma­tion relat­ed to Twin Peaks’ pro­duc­tion and mythos as well as the real-life his­to­ry of the rel­e­vant places. “It was at times hard to dis­tin­guish the Twin Peaks that lived in my imag­i­na­tion ver­sus the ground beneath my feet,” he admits.

Beaver makes his way to loca­tions both major and minor, from the Twin Peaks Sher­if­f’s Depart­ment (now the Dirt­Fish Ral­ly Rac­ing School) and the Dou­ble R din­er (Twede’s Cafe, “one of the few spots in Wash­ing­ton state that real­ly owns its Peakness”) to the shack of the Book House bik­er club and the bench in E.J. Roberts Park once sat upon by the late Har­ry Dean Stan­ton’s Carl Robb. Some real build­ings played dual roles: both Twin Peaks’ Blue Pine Lodge and Great North­ern Hotel are in real­i­ty dif­fer­ent parts of Pouls­bo’s Kiana Lodge, and the Mt. Si Motel appears as “two dif­fer­ent motels with ele­ments of the super­nat­ur­al,” first in Fire Walk with Me, then even more seed­i­ly in The Return. “That fresh moun­tain air and smell of trees is no joke,” says Beaver, words to heed if you plan on mak­ing your own Twin Peaks pil­grim­age — and if you do, you can sure­ly guess how he describes the cof­fee and cher­ry pie at Twede’s.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Twin Peaks Visu­al Sound­track Released Only in Japan: A New Way to Expe­ri­ence David Lynch’s Clas­sic Show

David Lynch Draws a Map of Twin Peaks (to Help Pitch the Show to ABC)

Watch an Epic, 4‑Hour Video Essay on the Mak­ing & Mythol­o­gy of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

Twin Peaks Actu­al­ly Explained: A Four-Hour Video Essay Demys­ti­fies It All

Play the Twin Peaks Video Game: Retro Fun for David Lynch Fans

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

Sean Connery (RIP) Reads C.P. Cavafy’s Epic Poem “Ithaca,” Set to the Music of Vangelis

This video com­bines three things that make me hap­py: the voice of Sean Con­nery (who passed away today), the music of Van­ge­lis (Blade Run­ner, Char­i­ots of Fire), and the poet­ry of C.P. Cavafy. Put them all togeth­er and you get a bliss­ful sound­scape of rolling synth lines, rolling Scot­tish R’s, and a suc­ces­sion of Home­r­ic images and anaphor­ic lines. And the video’s quite nice as well.

Cavafy, whose work, I’m told, is real­ly untrans­lat­able from the orig­i­nal Greek, always seems to come out pret­ty well to me in Eng­lish. “Itha­ca,” one of his most pop­u­lar poems, express­es what in less­er hands might be a banal sen­ti­ment akin to “it’s the jour­ney, not the des­ti­na­tion.” But in Cavafy’s poem, the jour­ney is both Odysseus’s and ours; it’s epic where our lives seem small, and it trans­lates our minor wan­der­ings to the realm of myth­ic his­to­ry.

Any­way, it seems rude to say much more and drown the poem in com­men­tary. So, fol­low along with Sean Con­nery.

Find the text of the poem after the jump. (more…)

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The Official Trailer for the New Frank Zappa Documentary Is Now Online

Mark it on your cal­en­dars. Alex Win­ter’s new Zap­pa doc­u­men­tary will be released on Novem­ber 23. To whet your appetite, here’s the offi­cial trail­er for the film: “With unfet­tered access to the Zap­pa fam­i­ly trust and all archival footage, ZAPPA explores the pri­vate life behind the mam­moth musi­cal career that nev­er shied away from the polit­i­cal tur­bu­lence of its time. Alex Winter’s assem­bly fea­tures appear­ances by Frank’s wid­ow Gail Zap­pa and sev­er­al of Frank’s musi­cal col­lab­o­ra­tors includ­ing Mike Keneal­ly, Ian Under­wood, Steve Vai, Pamela Des Bar­res, Bunk Gard­ner, David Har­ring­ton, Scott Thunes, Ruth Under­wood, Ray White and oth­ers.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Night Frank Zap­pa Jammed With Pink Floyd … and Cap­tain Beef­heart Too (Bel­gium, 1969)

Andy Warhol Hosts Frank Zap­pa on His Cable TV Show, and Lat­er Recalls, “I Hat­ed Him More Than Ever” After the Show

Frank Zappa’s Amaz­ing Final Con­certs: Prague and Budapest, 1991

Frank Zap­pa Explains the Decline of the Music Busi­ness (1987)

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What Scares Us, and How Does this Manifest in Film? A Halloween Pretty Much Pop Culture Podcast (#66)

Why do peo­ple enjoy being scared by films? How does what counts as fright­en­ing in a film actu­al­ly con­nect with what scares us in real life, and how does this in turn relate to child­hood fears? What’s the deal with “hor­ror” movies that are good but not scary or that are ter­ri­ble yet still scary in some way? Your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt are joined by actor/special effects-guy Nathan Shel­ton (who runs the Fright­mare The­atre Pod­cast) for a Hal­loween con­ver­sa­tion where no one gets a rock.

We present our picks for what scared us as kids: Tril­o­gy of Ter­ror, Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers (1978), Dark Night of the Scare­crow, and Copy­cat, and go on about Arachno­pho­bia, The Blair Witch Project, Hal­loween, Fri­day the 13th, The Thing, and Night­mare on Elm Street. We also dis­cus­sion hor­ror aimed at women, body hor­ror, tropopho­bia, hor­ror movie music, and Stephen King. Final­ly, we con­sid­er the revival in art hor­ror by the likes of Mike Flana­gan (Dr. Sleep, Haunt­ing of Bly Manor), Ari Aster (Mid­som­mar, Hered­i­tary), and Robert Eggers (The Witch).

We drew on a break-down on the var­i­ous ele­ments that make up the hor­ror genre from Matt Glas­by, in an arti­cle called “The Scari­est Films Ever Made and How They Fright­en Us.”

For a lengthy aca­d­e­m­ic look at the top­ic, try “(Why) Do You Like Scary Movies? A Review of the Empir­i­cal Research on Psy­cho­log­i­cal Respons­es to Hor­ror Films” (2019) by G. Neil Mar­tin.

If you don’t mind a key scene from The Thing (1982) being spoiled, check out this land­mark grody spe­cial effect scene.

Learn more at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps” & Bach’s “Prelude in C Major” Get Turned into Dazzling Musical Animations by an Artist with Synesthesia

Colour is the key­board, the eyes are the har­monies, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touch­ing one key or anoth­er, to cause vibra­tions in the soul.

—Wass­i­ly Kandin­sky

We may owe the his­to­ry of mod­ern art to the con­di­tion of synes­the­sia, which caus­es those who have it to hear col­ors, see sounds, taste smells, etc. Wass­i­ly Kandin­sky, who pio­neered abstract expres­sion­ism in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, did so “after hav­ing an unusu­al­ly visu­al response to a per­for­mance of Wagner’s com­po­si­tion Lohen­grin at the Bol­shoi The­atre,” the Den­ver Muse­um of Art notes. He was so moved by the moment that he “aban­doned his law career to study paint­ing at the pres­ti­gious Munich Acad­e­my of Fine Arts. He lat­er described the life-chang­ing expe­ri­ence: ‘I saw all my col­ors in spir­it, before my eyes. Wild, almost crazy lines were sketched in front of me.’”

Kandin­sky nev­er heard Coltrane, but if he had, and had access to 3D ren­der­ing soft­ware, he might have made some­thing very much like the short ani­ma­tion above from Israeli artist Michal Levy. “Rough­ly 3 per cent of peo­ple expe­ri­ence synaes­the­sia,” writes Aeon, “a neu­ro­log­i­cal con­di­tion in which peo­ple have a recur­ring sen­so­ry over­lap, such as … envi­sion­ing let­ters and num­bers each with their own inher­ent colour.”

Levy’s con­di­tion is one of the most com­mon forms, like Kandinsky’s: “chro­maes­the­sia, in which sounds and music pro­voke visu­als.” Where the Russ­ian painter saw Wag­n­er in “wild, almost crazy lines,” Levy sees the “rol­lick­ing notes” of Coltrane’s Giant Steps as a “kinet­ic, cas­cad­ing cityscape built from colour­ful blocks of sound.”

After visu­al­iz­ing her expe­ri­ence of Coltrane, Levy cre­at­ed the ani­ma­tion above, Dance of Har­mo­ny, to illus­trate what hap­pens when she hears Bach. Dur­ing a mater­ni­ty leave, work­ing with her friend, ani­ma­tor Hagai Azaz, she set her­self the chal­lenge of show­ing, as she describes it, “the cas­cad­ing flow of emo­tion, to make the feel­ing con­ta­gious, by using only col­or, the basic shape of cir­cles, and min­i­mal­ist motion, assign­ing to each musi­cal chord the visu­al ele­ments that cor­re­spond to it synaes­thet­i­cal­ly.”

It is fas­ci­nat­ing to com­pare Levy’s descrip­tions of her con­di­tion with those of oth­er famous synes­thetes like Vladimir Nabokov and, espe­cial­ly Kandin­sky, who in essence first showed the world what music looks like, there­by giv­ing art a new visu­al lan­guage. Levy calls her synes­the­sia art, an “emo­tion­al voy­age of har­mo­ny,” and includes in her visu­al­iza­tion of Bach’s famous pre­lude an “unex­pect­ed ele­giac side­bar of love and loss,” Maria Popo­va writes. Read Levy’s full descrip­tion of Dance of Har­mo­ny here and learn more about the “extra­or­di­nary sen­so­ry con­di­tion called synes­the­sia” here.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

An Artist with Synes­the­sia Turns Jazz & Rock Clas­sics Into Col­or­ful Abstract Paint­ings

Jazz Decon­struct­ed: What Makes John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps” So Ground­break­ing and Rad­i­cal?

Decon­struct­ing Bach’s Famous Cel­lo Prelude–the One You’ve Heard in Hun­dreds of TV Shows & Films

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagnes

Chris Matheson, “Bill & Ted” Writer, Talks Cosmic Satire with Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #65

Chris Math­e­son has writ­ten a bunch of com­ic movies includ­ing the new Bill & Ted Face the Music, and he’s con­vert­ed reli­gious texts into fun­nier books on three occa­sions, most recent­ly with The Bud­dha’s Sto­ry. Your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt talk with him about what uni­fies these projects: Why the big ideas of sci­ence fic­tion, fan­ta­sy, reli­gion, and phi­los­o­phy are beg­ging in a sim­i­lar way to be made fun of.

We get into the big ques­tions: How does humor relate to fear? Would a soci­ety based on Bill and Ted (or Keanu Reeves) actu­al­ly be desir­able? How bad is the evi­dent lit­er­al absur­di­ty of many reli­gious texts? Plus, the B & T joke that has not aged well, and much more!

A few arti­cles that we found but did­n’t real­ly draw on includ­ed:

Learn more at prettymuchpop.com. This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

Watch Ridley Scott’s Controversial Nissan Sports Car Ad That Aired Only Once, During the Super Bowl (1990)

Every com­mer­cial is a fan­ta­sy, but car com­mer­cials are more fan­tas­ti­cal than most. Just look at the set­tings, with their roads, whether remote or urban, com­plete­ly emp­ty of not just oth­er cars but obsta­cles of any kind: stop signs, street-crossers, speed traps. This leaves the hero­ic every­man behind the wheel free to take on the straight­aways and curves alike just as he sees fit. But what the stan­dard car com­mer­cial offers in dri­ver wish ful­fill­ment, it lacks in dra­ma: how to tell a sto­ry, after all, about a fea­ture­less char­ac­ter who faces no obsta­cles, sub­ject to no desires beyond those for com­fort and speed? Com­mis­sioned to direct a com­mer­cial for Nis­san’s 300ZX Tur­bo, Rid­ley Scott found a way.

“I’m in a Tur­bo Z,” says the nar­ra­tor of the result­ing spot “Tur­bo Dream,” first broad­cast dur­ing Super Bowl XXIV in 1990. “These guys are after me, but they can’t catch me.” These mys­te­ri­ous pur­suers first chase him on motor­cy­cles, then in an F1 race car, and then in an exper­i­men­tal-look­ing jet. (We’re a long way indeed from Hov­is bread.)

But “just as they’re about to catch me, the twin tur­bos kick in.” Those twin tur­bocharg­ers con­sti­tute only one of the cor­nu­copia of fea­tures avail­able for the 300ZX, then the lat­est mod­el of Nis­san’s “Z‑cars,” a series acclaimed for its com­bi­na­tion of sports-car per­for­mance, lux­u­ry-car fea­tures, and high tech­nol­o­gy. The lin­eage goes all the way back to 1969, when the com­pa­ny intro­duced its Japan­ese Fair­la­dy Z in the U.S. as the 240Z.

For most of the 1960s, “Japan­ese sports car” would have sound­ed like a con­tra­dic­tion in terms. But by the 1990s many once-loy­al Amer­i­can dri­vers had been enticed to defect, not least by the promise of the Z‑car. Tak­en by sur­prise, the colos­sal U.S. auto indus­try did not react char­i­ta­bly to its for­eign com­peti­tors, and the 1980s wave of eco­nom­ic anti-Japan­ese sen­ti­ment swept Amer­i­ca. Hol­ly­wood wast­ed no time cap­i­tal­iz­ing on these feel­ings: count­less action movies began fea­tur­ing cor­po­rate-raid­ing Japan­ese vil­lains, and one of the least shod­dy among them was Black Rain — direct­ed by a cer­tain Rid­ley Scott, who in Blade Run­ner had already real­ized one vision of a thor­ough­ly Japan­i­fied Amer­i­ca.

Black Rain had come out just four months before the broad­cast of “Tur­bo Dream,” and any­one who’d seen the film would sure­ly be remind­ed of its open­ing motor­cy­cle race. The spot did draw a back­lash, but the anger had noth­ing to do with Japan: “The com­mer­cial was protest­ed by groups like the Insur­ance Insti­tute for High­way Safe­ty, the Amer­i­can Acad­e­my of Pedi­atrics, the Nation­al Asso­ci­a­tion of Gov­er­nors’ High­way Safe­ty Rep­re­sen­ta­tives and oth­ers,” writes Jalop­nik’s Jason Torchin­sky. “The issue was that the ad was thought to glo­ri­fy speed­ing,” and the com­mer­cial nev­er aired again. The 300ZX itself would go on for a few more years, until the Amer­i­can SUV trend and the ris­ing yen-to-dol­lar ratio tem­porar­i­ly retired it in 1997. When they bring the new­ly unveiled Z Pro­to to mar­ket, Nis­san could do worse than enlist­ing Scott to come up with anoth­er tur­bocharged fan­ta­sy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See Rid­ley Scott’s 1973 Bread Commercial—Voted England’s Favorite Adver­tise­ment of All Time

Wes Anderson’s New Com­mer­cials Sell the Hyundai Azera

Film­mak­er Cre­ates a Lux­u­ry-Style Car Com­mer­cial to Sell a 21-Year-Old Used Hon­da Accord

Cars: Past, Present & Future (A Free Course from Stan­ford)

Bob Dylan’s Con­tro­ver­sial 2004 Victoria’s Secret Ad: His First & Last Appear­ance in a Com­mer­cial

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

The Scariest Film of All Time?: Revisiting the Hysteria in 1973 Around The Exorcist by William Friedkin (RIP)

William Friedkin’s 1973 The Exor­cist might feel wrapped in the his­tor­i­cal glow of “ele­vat­ed hor­ror” now–serious film­mak­ing for dis­cern­ing fans and critics–but that was very much *not* the case back in the year of its birth. Back in the grimy, Water­gate years of the ear­ly ‘70s, The Exor­cist was as much a side-show freak­out as any­thing William Cas­tle pro­duced back in the day. It was an endurance test.

The above film from that time proves it, show­ing the long, around-the-block lines, the sold-out screen­ings, the repeat view­ers, and the record-break­ing open­ing week­end gross­es ($2 mil­lion in just 24 the­aters in Decem­ber, before open­ing wide across the nation in 1974.) This event had more in com­mon with your cur­rent com­ic book movie or Star Wars sequel, and all the while being an R‑rated film based on Catholic dog­ma and fea­tur­ing some of the most col­or­ful pro­fan­i­ty ever hurled at a man of the cloth (on screen at least).

Of course, it is the reac­tions of the view­ers that make this footage worth it. The cin­e­ma work­ers talk about how even the biggest guys can’t hack the film and exit white as a sheet. Two young women say this is their sec­ond attempt to watch the film all the way through. Anoth­er guy say he wasn’t scared by the film but “I dun­no, I just faint­ed.”

And we do in fact see some peo­ple faint in the lob­by, just going down like a sack of bricks, and an ush­er tells the cam­era he has two kinds of smelling salts to choose from. One woman in line even tells the cam­era crew, “I wan­na see if it’s gonna make me throw up.” In fact, at one point some the­aters start­ed hand­ing out “barf bags” for ner­vous view­ers (which prob­a­bly increased their chances of vom­it­ing). MAD Mag­a­zine even got in on the hype with an appro­pri­ate cov­er (“If the Dev­il Makes You Do It” reads the bag.)

All this was incred­i­bly good for busi­ness, and incred­i­bly good for the news media, who sent crews like this one down, along with a reporter to inter­view peo­ple bail­ing on the film halfway through. The demon­ic voice is what did it for peo­ple, pro­vid­ed by actress Mer­cedes McCam­bridge, who report­ed­ly downed raw eggs, smoked cig­a­rettes and drank whiskey to give her voice that raspy edge.

From this year’s van­tage point it all looks quaint and fun–all these dif­fer­ent peo­ple from var­i­ous walks of life hav­ing a shared expe­ri­ence in a the­ater, every­body whipped up into a delight­ful and ulti­mate­ly harm­less fren­zy.

Most of the doc­u­men­tary was shot at the Nation­al The­ater in West­wood, Los Ange­les. Only three years old at the time, the cin­e­ma was the last sin­gle-screen the­ater built in the Unit­ed States. It was torn down in 2008, replaced by some tony apart­ments and a street-lev­el sushi bar.

via Men­tal Floss

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stephen King’s 22 Favorite Movies: Full of Hor­ror & Sus­pense

Mar­tin Scors­ese Cre­ates a List of the 11 Scari­est Hor­ror Films

How Famous Paint­ings Inspired Cin­e­mat­ic Shots in the Films of Taran­ti­no, Gilliam, Hitch­cock & More: A Big Super­cut

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

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