Watched in the cinema (125th visit in 2023)

Those who have seen it probably remember perfectly what it was like to enjoy "Blue Velvet" for the first time. What do people most likely remember when they think of this movie by David Lynch? Probably first and foremost how this film showed you that the strange, the evil and the unreal is not only part of an environment that shapes our perception, but that the strange, the evil and the unreal is part of ourselves - and thus rather shapes our environment. In the course of today's after-viewing, "Blue Velvet" also seems like a warm-up, since all the points were already set there that were to make up David Lynch's "Twin Peaks". The series that made quality television what it is today is the logical consequence of "Blue Velvet".

In 2017, the long-awaited third season of the successful format came to an end. Faithful David Lynch advocates and passionate lateral thinkers could, of course, only break out in jubilation. Fortunately, the discussions about the third season of "Twin Peaks" were once again directed to another section of the now almost mythological "Twin Peaks" universe, which in the past was always treated somewhat neglected: Namely, the 1992 feature film that forms a prequel to the series and documents the last seven days in the life of Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee). Whereby documented seems almost too scientific at this point, "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me", which was given a revival yesterday as part of the "Best of Cinema" series in German cinemas, is above all a sensory experience that sees itself as a conglomerate, as a masterful evaporation of the series - and yet exposes its own impulses, which touches the viewer on various levels of experience, challenges, enriches.

At the beginning there is only a flickering blue, in front of which the names of cast and crew are allowed to spread out. More and more intensely, David Lynch seems to drag the viewer into the background flickering and flickering until a television screen explodes in the ellipsis of a cut. The flickering of the screen is over, at the same moment the young prostitute Teresa Banks (Pamela Gidley) is murdered. One shot later, her body floats in a white sack on the river of the small town of Deer Meadow. This opening alone is a highly perceptive illustration of what David Lynch is (also) about in "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me": namely, the juxtaposition of reality and illusion. If you will, this is also the leitmotif in his (almost) consistently brilliant oeuvre. This is followed by a reunion with old acquaintances: David Lynch himself, Kyle MacLachlan and also David Bowie as Phillip Jeffries are in the game. At least for the time being. After a good half hour, however, David Lynch focuses entirely on Laura Palmer.

You, of course, know that you are focusing entirely on Laura Palmer's farewell. In the midst of a cliché-ridden suburban backdrop, the master director once again reveals his seemingly inexhaustible directorial register. Unique visual and sound worlds transport the viewer into a world in which lurking shadowy creatures and glaring cones of light signify only one of the fundamentally different juxtapositions (in their dispositions) within Laura's consciousness. "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me" strikes a nightmare landscape in which Lynch's concentration is entirely on the sensory and the affective. Detached from the scourge of the classic storyteller, hypnosis and electricity remain the main constants here. His creative explosive power, however, is not evident in the associative audio-visuality, but where Lynch deals with his main character in a completely human way. Where he addresses domestic violence, sexual abuse, sadness and longings. There, the ballad of fire and kitsch becomes an empathetic redemptive fantasy that shows that doors cannot always be opened in only one direction.