ABC won’t be breathing down his neck, inquiring as to when they’re finally going to reveal the identity of Laura Palmer’s murderer (like they did during Twin Peaks’ initial run). How large a cultural event the return of Twin Peaks is certainly isn’t lost on co-writer/director David Lynch, but this pop significance seems like a distant second concern to the fact that Showtime is letting him do whatever the fuck his little heart desires.
The mystery will reveal itself in time, and when it finally does (during a mid-coital embrace that feels lifted from a B-Horror picture) all Hell breaks loose. He’s just supposed to watch the box, and use the A/V set-up to record his findings for a billionaire investor. The boy’s entire endeavor is shrouded in secrecy and, on a night when the watchman finally vacates his desk, she follows him in and asks what he’s looking for with all that gear. A pretty girl visits him each night, delivering lattes and playful flirtation, but the grim guard who monitors the keycard-locked apartment will not let her past his post. Banks of audio/video equipment are set up the amount of wiring and blinking lights utilized intimidating to anyone who isn’t a roadie for Metallica.
A young man sits in a New York City loft that’s been equipped with a gigantic glass box in its center. There’s an enigmatic story thread during the first two episodes of Twin Peaks: The Return that works as a perfect metaphor for the audience’s rapt attention. “I’ll see you again in twenty-five years.”