A scene early on in the magnificent, some say bewildering Twin Peaks: The Return acts as a subtle pointer. We’re in the office of FBI director Gordon Cole, played by the show’s auteur-creator David Lynch. On a far wall there is a huge portrait of Franz Kafka; behind Cole’s desk is a picture of Trinity, the first atomic bomb test in New Mexico in July 1945. The two stark, black-and-white images stare each other out, as if daring the other to make the first move.

It was right about here I realised that, as we cower beneath the civilisation-mocking possibility of nuclear war via tweet, Twin Peaks is the perfect television show for our times.

The show’s return has brought with it the return of the fan theory. There has been much discussion online, for example, that the “fire” so important to Twin Peaks is actually the A-bomb, fueled by the fact that Twin Peaks’ original sheriff is called Harry Truman – the name of the only president to order atomic strikes.

Such speculations have been part of the viewing experience since the first series was co-created with Mark Frost in 1990, and there has been no shortage this time round. Another theory sets up the possibility that the new series’ non-linear narrative is actually being dreamed by Audrey, who we left in a coma at the end of series two and who returns here a diminished figure – actress Sherilyn Fenn certainly stoked the fires of this with a recent Instagram post.

Stoking the fires … is the whole new series actually being dreamed by Audrey? Photograph: Suzanne Tenner/Showtime

Yet you can bet all the fan’s questions aren’t answered in this weekend’s forthcoming finale … and nobody should expect them to be. For in Twin Peaks, resolution should be treated like a red herring in the percolator – with suspicion.

It was the same for Kafka, who Lynch once described as the “one artist that I feel could be my brother”. The two share a gloriously freewheeling style that encourages multiple interpretations, offering up powerful artistic moments that add up to many possible wholes.



Echoes abound. The plight of Agent Cooper mirrors that of insurance salesman Gregor Samsa in Metamorphosis. He re-enters the world after years of exile in the Black Lodge, not as a “monstrous insect” but in the guise of the Nevadan Dougie Jones, who also works as an insurance salesman. Despite the fact Jones seems unable to perform many of his daily tasks due to diminished cognitive and physical functions, he is expected to go to work as usual just like Samsa.

‘One artist I could call my brother’ … Lynch’s obsession with Kafka becomes clear in the light of the character Dougie. Photograph: Suzanne Tenner/Showtime

As with Kafka, Twin Peaks has always been concerned with doubles and duality: the clue is in the show’s title. Laura Palmer lived “a double life”, according to Dr Jacoby. Her cousin Maddy, who bears an uncanny likeness to Laura, comes to stay after she is murdered and ultimately succumbs to the same fate in series one. There are at least two Coopers in the new series: Good Coop, Bad Coop – and does Dougie count as a third?



Perhaps Kafka is Lynch’s double in the scene in Cole’s office, staring at the picture of the first atomic bomb test. Fast forward to the gorgeous and epic episode eight and we visit this cataclysmic, nerve-shredding moment that changed the world for ever – only in Twin Peaks the test is more significant as the birthplace of Bob, the sadistic, silver-haired spirit responsible for much of the show’s darkness.

The cataclysmic, nerve-shredding moment that changed the world forever … episode eight of Twin Peaks. Photograph: Showtime





Lynch’s life and inner world feeds this work. FBI agent Tammy Preston, the object of Cole’s obsession throughout the series, is played by Lynch’s longtime muse Chrysta Bell. Catherine E Coulson, who died shortly after shooting her last scenes as the Log Lady, started out as his PA. David Foster Wallace wrote that Lynch’s work is “presented with something like a child’s ingenious (and sociopathic) lack of self-consciousness,” in a 1996 profile on the director, and is “extremely personal and extremely remote.”



Lynch famously “fishes” for his plots through raiding hypnagogic moments in dreams and through transcendental meditation. But between the abstruse dives into Lynch’s psyche, and doppelganger references to Hollywood greats (Citizen Kane’s famous last words “Rosebud” here become Lois Duffy’s “Blue Rose”) there are constant strands that chime with our times.

The RR diner has been turned into a franchise at the behest of Walter, who is keen for Norma to cut corners in the quality of her famous cherry pie. “Love doesn’t always turn a profit,” he tells her. Dr Jacoby in his alter ego as Dr Amp is a timely figure too: an angry libertarian you could just as well imagine voting for Donald Trump as Bernie Sanders. Yet Lynch isn’t mocking the ranting Dr Amp, or indeed any of his characters: he famously loves his creations like children and dreams about them.



The return of Twin Peaks is a televisual high-point of this and any era. It feels so well-timed and perfectly realised, and occurs at a stage in Lynch’s career when he has nothing to prove. The sense of surprise and wonder each episode brings feels akin to David Bowie (who makes a posthumous cameo in the series) releasing Blackstar shortly before his death.

Most thrillingly, the show allows viewers the one thing they lack in our always-connected age: time to think, to investigate. Lynch loves a lingering, noirish road shot. As you watch it unfold, you are free to speculate, implant what you feel is going to happen next, or what the preceding scene even meant. In our media-saturated, violently convulsing political moment, it feels like the ultimate artistic gift.