Murder on the Orient Express (2017): All Aboard for Another Agatha Adaptation

The first time I was exposed to the mysterious world of Agatha Christie was in middle school. I got up one morning to get ready for school and in typical me fashion turned on my television almost first thing. I often would find myself attracted to the first film or television show that popped on screen—anything to entertain me as I ate my cereal and brushed my teeth. One fateful morning as my TV screen became illuminated I came to see a group of eccentric individuals having some trouble aboard a steamboat on the Egyptian Nile. This film was Death on The Nile (1978) another popular cinematic adaptation of the Queen of Crime's literary works. I was instantly engrossed, and my passion for the murder mystery genre was forevermore solidified. My mother upon discovering my newfound love for mystery, mayhem and pudgy funny Belgian man had one thing to say:

"Wait till you see the one set on a train."

I read Murder on the Orient Express before ever watching Sidney Lumet's 1974 adaptation. In the middle of reading the book, I remember running into the kitchen as my mother was prepping dinner and exclaiming; "I know who did it, I don't know why, but I know who!"

I was right as it turned out. There's no cinematic critique in this part of the review. I just thought I'd earned some bragging rights.

Many critics have been critical of the idea of remaking one of the most well-known murder mysteries of all time. What's the point if a majority of people know the conclusion? Does adding in a few snazzy twists and tricks retool the whole package into something new and exciting? Why not leave well-enough alone? As I've said before, I am a believer in remakes if done for the right reasons. Some stories deserve to be retold and updated for modern audiences so that they can be exposed to the narrative philosophies of a piece of visual art they would otherwise normally not give attention to.

When I went to the movie theater to see Kenneth Branagh's adaptation of Christie's most known novel, my expectations were limited, yet specific. I was not preoccupied with how the director/actor was going to portray Hercule Poirot, nor did I stress over the obvious alterations made within the characters and plot as presented in the film's trailers. My concerns lied mostly with the handling of the ending, not the solution to the crime as much as the consequences of it. Few critical reviews that I read touched upon how the characters react to the solution to the crime and the emotional toll it ultimately has on all those involved in the complicated case. This is such a crucial aspect to the story, in my opinion, because the ending is the very thing that strikes everyone the most about this particular mystery. Poirot is left with a moralistic dilemma at the end of this story, and in every single incarnation of it, he handles that dilemma differently. Before I dive into the climax though, I'd like to take a closer look at other elements of the film, so I'll spread out this review using Three C's; Cinematography, Cast and Conclusion.

Cinematography

The film is shot on vintage style 65mm, and this gives it an appropriately nostalgic touch in nearly every scene. While at times it does make the CGI landscapes even more apparent, the crispness of the color and the depth of field in the shots is undeniably grand. Branagh makes some questionable camera shot choices, especially upon the discovery of the corpse, done by an awkward, out of body overhead shot of the hallway that lasts far too long than it should.

I also found some exterior panning shots of the train obstructive and distracting, such as when we are first introduced to Mrs Hubbard. We can't get a proper feel for her character because she is overshadowed by the cluttered narrow train-car set around her. The use of black and white in the flashbacks during the film's climax is undoubtedly not nuanced, but it is an effective method still. That approach made me instantly think of the television detective series Monk, which always featured it's denouement sequences as a black and white flashback. The film's lush looks are suitable for this particular genre of film. Movies hardly ever look this pretty anymore, especially when they have to do with violent murders and avalanches.

CAST

A film such as this doesn't really require an all-star ensemble as a necessity, but more so as an indulgent decadence. Murder mysteries are simply more fun when you have familiar faces as suspects. Your favorite stars turned criminals and victims before your very eyes. The previous cinematic adaption was populated with the likes of Hollywood royalty such as Ingrid Bergman, Sean Connery and Lauren Bacall. The updated version features the talents of Michelle Pfeiffer, Judi Dench, Johnny Depp amongst many others. Does the new film utilize its star-studded cast as well as it's predecessor? The answer is yes, and no. Josh Gad, for example, has plenty of scenery to chew on as Hector McQueen, as Anthony Perkins did in the original. They both get to swim around in the emotional turmoil of complicated familial relationships. Gad with his father and Perkins, of course, with his mother. Judi Dench, on the other hand, is in all honesty rather wasted as Princess Dragomiroff, a thankless role that should be far more important in both film adaptations of the Christie tale. Johnny Depp is serviceable as Ratchett, though in a somewhat cartoonish way that makes you grateful that his part in the film is short and bittersweet. The ever-popular Daisy Ridely turns Mary Debenham into something of a feminist heroine. She is tender and nurturing yet unapologetically sly and resilient. Vanessa Redgrave is proud, no doubt. Kenneth Branagh's Poirot is, of course, being lauded as a triumph and he truly is. He imbues the character with a precise balance of humor and severity that allows him to function on a humanistic level, which is sometimes lacking from the character in previous incarnations. He is not just the cardboard cut-out of a talented detective, but a man in his own right, one with a past in his heart and a need for balance in his Belgium bones. A special shout - out also deserves to be given to young Lucy Boynton, who portrays Countess Andrenyi. Though she has little to do, she handles her big scene with enrapturing theatrical gusto. Her character is vulnerable yet fiery while, Sergei Polunin who portrays her temperamental ballet dancer husband comes across as humorously over the top. It is also odd that the actor is a ballet dancer as well and yet he has no scenes in which he actually does any dancing. He and Depp don't know when to rein in their performances and they at times make the film come off as insincere and hammy. Pfeiffer struggles at times as well, never convincing us of Mrs Hubbard's high society ignorance and gossipy spirit the way Bacall did so effortlessly in the 1974 version. This is a true shame too because as her character arc reaches an important point in the ending, Pfeiffer truly shines. This transformation feels forced and almost too late because of her vapid characterization throughout most of the preceding film. 

Two characters have had their ethnicities changed, and one is a completely different race altogether. An Italian becomes a Cuban, and a Swede becomes Hispanic. The alteration of Arbuthnot from a white Colonel to a black doctor in the 1930s was quite a bold choice. While some critics claim these diversified casting changes add little to the story, I believed they played an important part in the overall plot. First and foremost, they are used as a motivation for Poirot to investigate the crime himself. A character points out to him that the police will likely pin the murder on a minority amongst the passengers if they don't have a credible answer for them when they arrive. Not only does this add some much-needed conflict and plausibility to Poirot decision to take on the investigation, but we as an audience are also reminded of how little we've progressed in society as minorities today are also still at high risk of being wrongly accused and imprisoned for crimes they did not commit. The interracial love story between Arbuthnot and Debenham is slightly underserved, but a welcomed progressive change nonetheless.

New elements in the film are mostly good. The problem is they don't get explored as elaborately as they could have been. The cast function decidedly well all in all, despite having little chance to interact with characters other than Poirot meaningfully. This is especially true for Dench and Pfeiffer who despite having a close secret connection between their characters, share no significant interaction with one another throughout the entire running time. In many ways, the train itself is the most important character, defined not only by its aesthetic beauty but also by it malevolent aura as it steams across a snowy tundra.

Conclusion

Much of the hype given to Murder on the Orient Express over the years is in regards to its surprising ending. This surprise is not only in regards to the discovery of the murderer's identities but also the repercussions of the development itself. What makes this story so distinct for me is its moral complexities. This is not a clean-cut tale of wrongs turned right and justice prevailing for all those harmed. There is an abundance of hurt still present at the story's end, in both the book and this remake. Justice is not as easy to come by in this particular Christie story; in fact, it is something that is deprived, stolen even from not one lone person, but twelve. I fear, however, that many have misinterpreted the significance of this narrative and why it is truly so timeless. It is not Poirot's ingenious deduction skills or the overtly complex methodologies used to execute and cover up the crime itself that makes this story important. It's the reasons for doing so in the first place. This murder was an act of love, fuelled partly by hate and thirst of revenge, yes, but enacted with a sense of duty and yearning for the precious things that had been taken from the murderers, their loved ones. Though the crime is solved, it is left for the audience to decide the morality of the choices made by all the characters involved, detective and suspects alike. It is appropriate that Poirot identifies the killers as "wounded souls", but the most glaring revelation made at the film's conclusion is that Poirot's own soul may have been tainted by his decisions in the film's final moments. Can he live with this disorder out there in the world, or has order been restored in his eyes and the meaning of the word "order" redefined?

What I ask someone after they experience Murder on The Orient Express, whichever version that may be, is a very pointed question. I believe this question sums up the entire meaning and thematic purpose of the story and how it unfolds:

"What would you do for the ones you love?"

A wife, a daughter, a sister or a friend, it doesn't matter who, what matters is the special place they hold inside you and what you would do if that part were torn out with no numbing anesthetic to quell you. When your entire world falls apart, the law is no longer your savior, and God appears mute to your tribulations, what would you do? How would you survive? What lengths are immeasurable for you to forego? Penelope Cruz's character comments near the film's end that justice is buried with the dead. If that's true, it can never be reached, and maybe that's what frustrates and upsets the audience and Poirot the most at the film's conclusion. The unreachable comfort of justice. The purification of the tarnished soul.

"There was right, there was wrong, now there is you." - Hercule Poirot

Murder on the Orient Express (2017) is a film about crimes that go unsolved, prison sentences that are not delivered and lives that become unlivable. Kenneth Branagh explores the dark, tragic depths of such eviscerated souls quite effectively in the film's climax. He doesn't make it clean and easy as does the 1974 version with smiles and champagne glasses clinking in solidarity. Nor does he make it as morose as David Suchet's BBC televised version a couple of years ago with literal tears in Poirot's eyes as he stumbles away from the train. It is a perfect balance of mystery, murder and melancholy. A recipe certainly refined by Dame Agatha Christie herself after so many successful years of writing. While some may feel this film veers into the melodramatic, again I'd inquire to them how'd they react if in a similar circumstance to that of the film's ensemble. Besides, a murder mystery is supposed to have a flair for the dramatic, not just the realistic.

I would definitely recommend Murder on the Orient Express to anyone if only to encourage provocative conversation afterwards regarding the films thematic content and to grant them the pleasure of viewing such nostalgic filmmaking at a time when Hollywood is filled with buildings exploding and fast cars racing. As for the idea of Kenneth Branagh continuing as Poirot in future cinematic adaptations of Agatha Christie's work?

I think my "little grey cells" and I would enjoy that very much.

Our Souls At Night

Nothing quite caps off a Friday night out with your parents than watching a movie on Netflix. Yes, I realize how absurd that statement sounds, but the fact remains a Red Lobster Margarita tastes phenomenal regardless of who sits beside you in the booth. Anyways, two weeks prior we watched Barefoot in the Park (1967) starring Jane Fonda and Robert Redford, in preparation for the release of the duos the FOURTH film together Our Souls At Night (2017).

The film tells the story of two neighboring widows who decide to begin sleeping in the same bed at night to combat the loneliness of heartbreak and aging. Though they have lived within yards of each other for years, Louis Waters and Addie Moore (Redford and Fonda respectfully) hardly know each other. One thing that instantly intrigued me as I sipped a Corona on my couch and watched Redford eat a late-night frozen dinner in the opening scene was how quickly the inciting incident of the film takes place. The 101 minute running time takes no reservations for the sake of subtly. Addie shows up at his doorstep within the first ten minutes and makes him a proposition of a lifetime, sort of.

We don't always need to know the exact psychological inner workings of our protagonist minds. Some ideas are so alluringly fascinating that they don't need justification. What I am saying is, I'm glad we don't spend 15 minutes at the beginning of the film with some schmaltzy montage consisting of Louis and Addie sleeping alone and being, well lonely. Instead, we get right to the good stuff, the proposition of companionship. We shouldn't learn too much about either of them before the arrangement begins, because as the film progresses we see that it is during key scenes of them preparing for bed, that the characters begin revealing their true inner-selves to us and, of course, to each other.

My dad commented early on during the film that I found quite striking, even though it was something I was already quite aware of as a film student. He noted that sometimes in film, all you need is a really good premise, a story no one else has thought of yet. That can frequently be enough to hook an audience. Of course, as a film student, I also know that you can't rely on the premise alone. A movie about two people who sleep together but don't actually SLEEP together (I mean sex, how's that for subtly?) could easily be dreary, tear-jerking tissue waster. Our Souls at Night avoids this, however. Its most considerable saving grace being the immaculate chemistry between its two iconic leads. Redford's reserved timid-ness in his portrayal of Louis harkens back to his performance as Hubble in The Way We Were (1973). Fonda is more of a minx, creating a character who takes a bit more time to figure out, but her hidden depths are worth the wait thanks to the actress's penchant for balancing brash humor with tender emotion. Her eyes strain with guilt tinged tears as she recalls the death of her young daughter years prior in a particularly memorable scene.

The film is a slow boil, allowing the strangers to evolve into lovers in an unforced organic manner that is rare of most commercial films in today's world. Their first kiss isn't even shared until well past the film's halfway mark. While this romantic turn hardly comes as a surprise, its inevitability feels somewhat less gimmicky by the film's delicate handling of their cautiously bred intimacy. One fault of the film that should be noted is its waste of actress Judy Greer in only a single scene as Redford's daughter. Why such a talented actress continues to be given such thankless roles as this one is beyond me, it's good time this stops. How can we bring about the next generation of Fonda's and Redford's when talented actors and actresses who've put the work in are given so little to show for it?

Overall the film is a compelling romance, reminding us to appreciate that stories featuring older couples can be just as emotionally engaging and sexy as ones featuring those atop People's Sexiest Person Alive List. Fonda and Redford are worthy of quality work such as this, and where it falters, they bring it back to par with their seasoned expertise and acting wisdom. If they did another twenty films together, I'd watch each one with gleeful adulation at Old Hollywood still showing the New Kids how it's done best, with care.

Twin Peaks: The Return to Great Television

Some may wonder why it took a little over 25 years for Twin Peaks to return to television. With television networks attempting to revive/reboot television shows that have barley passed ten years since the airing of their series finales (I'm looking at you CW on your two failed attempts to reboot Charmed) it is a wonder that we didn't get a new Twin Peaks by the turn of the century or at least before Kyle MacLachlan became known as Charlotte's mama's boy fiancé on Sex in the City. Twin Peaks never really stopped breathing thanks to fans acting as doctors with defibrillation paddles, the irony of such a statement when you think about the vital role electricity played in the revival. Whether it be through the prequel film Fire Walk With Me (1992) or the accompanying literary works like The Secret Dossier or Laura's Secret Diary, Twin Peaks never truly left the public sphere of consciousness. Why then did it take to 2017 to show creators David Lynch and Mark Frost to bring back one of television's most coveted treasures? Is it just because Laura Palmer's doppelganger teases so in the original finale by stating: "I'll see you again in 25 years?"

I think not.

Twin Peaks took time to come back for many reasons among them. I believe that television was not in a state of readiness for its triumphant return. When we see how far television has come in the last ten years, let alone since the 1990s, it is no wonder Lynch and his team saw a light of hope for the rebirth of such a beloved television extravaganza. Television is currently at its most diversified state then it has ever been before not only with content and technology but with acting and character arcs as well. People may think it took 25 years for Twin Peaks to prepare for a return, but in actuality, it took television 25 years to prepare for Twin Peaks.

Twin Peaks revolutionized television, not just with its content, but with its construct even more so. A society obsessed with labels and serialization couldn't pinpoint what it was; soap opera, drama, dark comedy, supernatural, police procedural etc. The majority settled on a murder mystery, though I believe that to be a mistake now. While the question everyone was asking themselves was "Who Killed Laura Palmer?" the question that truly fizzed and boiled in Lynch and Frost's craniums was; "Who is Laura Palmer?" Of all the questions this 18-part revival did and didn't answer, and there was plenty of both, trust me. This singular inquiry was given an unquestionable answer.

"Laura is the One." - Log Lady (The Late, Great, Catherine E. Coulson) 

I had been a Twin Peaks fan prior to this summer; I was just unaware of it. What I mean is I am a frequent viewer of shows such as American Horror Story, Lost, Riverdale, Stranger Things, among others. Without having watched a single episode before the summer of 2017, I had been a huge Twin Peaks fan for a majority of my older adolescent life. When a friend of mine was over my house the night of the premiere of the revival he stated "I was always going to get you into this show" and that they did. After the first episode of the revival I was hooked, and I binged and finished the series before the infamous "Part 8" episode of The Return aired. It was a viewing experience unmatched by any other. Binging Twin Peaks in today's age is the ecstasy of artistic voyeurism.

I too found myself, upon initial viewing beguiled by this sad, yet seductive young girl fighting a battle she never asked to be a part of. A trophy to be wielded by the victor of the long-standing battle between good and evil, Laura Palmer was never destined to have a perfect life. She was destined to do what many women do on a daily basis around the globe in their own way, sacrifice her well-being for the sake of others. Laura fought to maintain her identity, even when others attempted to force a different one upon her, as Bob tried before killing her. She would never just be, Daddy's Good Girl or the Town Slut, any more than she would allow an evil, perverse demon to take hold of her body and soul. Laura was not just a victim wrapped in plastic. She was the embodiment of everything Lynch and Frost wanted to tell within the red-curtained walls of this world. Laura was the battle. The question "Part 18" leaves us with is whether good or evil ultimately won if there even was a victor.

? =?

We will get back to this point in a little while, as there are other statements, inquiries and observations I wish to make regarding The Revival that doesn't have as much to do with Laura Palmer and her story. However, one could argue that everything in Twin Peaks does indeed come back around to this beautiful, haunted girl.

The Audrey Horne Problem

While David Lynch revels in the sweet torture of the suspense and anticipations of his viewing audience, I think we've been through enough at this point. That is why I'm moving directly to one of the most hot-button topics of the original series and revival, the fate of Audrey Horne. When the original series ended, Audrey was involved in a bank explosion leaving her character's fate up in the air. It took twelve episodes of The Return for us even to get a glimpse of her and her current life. The enigmatic sassy teenage girl we came to know and love in the '90s has become a seemingly brittle and bitter married woman in her later years. Though as often is the case with Twin Peaks, nothing is as it seems. We are brought to the elusive conclusion that Audrey herself is trapped somewhere otherworldly, or at the very least institutionalized. However, we are given such little context as to where she fits into the lives of the other characters still residing in Twin Peaks that it's nearly impossible to come up with any theory that isn't pure conjecture. In all honesty, I believe us as the fans deserved better. This character deserved better. That does not mean she should've received a happy ending in the arms of her one true love, Agent Cooper, it doesn't even mean her story had to have a conclusive final chapter. A woman so dedicated to discovering the truth, who went through hell and high water for love and affection, has been awarded nothing in return in this revival, and it seems incredibly anti-feminist. She is stripped of all autonomy that she had previously garnered in the original series. The things that made us love and respect her in the first place. This is a shame because Lynch and Frost write women very well, but sometimes it seems they just don't know what to do with them, or doesn't care at how their vision may be misperceived. It's admirable, but enraging at the same time. Meanwhile, Diane, played by Laura Dern in terrifically raw performance, is dealt a more complex deck to play. Audrey should have simply played a more definable role in the show's overarching plot, something that would've given her character, played impeccably still by Sherilyn Fenn, more significant meaning. The way Lynch portrays Audrey's suffering here comes off like a demented prepubescent child poking an injured bird with a stick. It could've been so much more, and while I appreciate Lynch's mission to mystify, some thing's are better left explored. Audrey was most certainly one of them.

Special Effects

Much of the excitement regarding the return of Twin Peaks was the result of it being brought back by Showtime as opposed to basis broadcast. This would obviously allow for much darker content, but also afford it an expanded budget that would enable visual effects to be substantially improved. While it is public knowledge at this point that Lynch had disagreements with Showtime regarding monetary accommodations, luckily, these issues were able to be worked out. What's humorous about all this however, is the fact that many special effects used during the 18 hours of The Return don't seem that expensive! Some of them seem to be intentionally low grade and spotty as if it really were airing in 1991 on ABC all over again. The artistic choices made by Lynch to supplement quality for creative imagination is certainly an admirable one. Things don't always have to look completely realistic for them to attract a viewer's eyeballs to a TV screen. The way Laura is sucked out of the Lodge in "Part 2" looks like amateur stop-motion animation, and I loved every second of it. The morphing of Mr C and Bob's faces together in the prison mirror is frightening without having to be the best CGI effects seen by an audience since Twister (1996). Lynch knows that the way you picture an idea in your head is sometimes even more authentic than how it would actually look if occurring in the real world. It is because of this invaluable knowledge that The Return has its own personal stamp of authenticity. Nothing has ever looked like it before, because everything else has always strived to look better than the present. Meanwhile, Lynch here seems to be continuously reinventing the past, to great appeasement. The White Lodge scenes in the empty opera house theater evoke Silent Film-era without feeling like artistic thievery. Cooper's harrowing rescue of Laura in "Part 17" is reminiscent of films such as The Wizard of Oz (1939) and even Back to the Future (1985). Lynch knows when homage becomes plagiarism, and that's why he never allows these to things to meet. Just like he never allowed Cooper and Audrey to meet again - alright sorry - I'm still bitter. The special effects in The Return build upon the visual storytelling foundations set by David Lynch throughout his entire career, and it was an honor to be able to see them fully recognized on television by his standards.

Music

Music plays an integral part in the world of Twin Peaks. The role it played in the revival is quite different from the one it played in the original incarnation. The original Twin Peaks certainly had its fair dose of melodrama, and much of that aspect to the plotlines came from the musical cues. As in the famous soap operas of the previous decades, whenever a shocking plot device was revealed, or a scandalous character action took place, Angelo Badalamenti's organically soulful musical score collided into the audience's earlobes like a piece of cherry pie onto an awaiting plate. Music in the old Twin Peaks was a marriage between story and sound. How you felt during a scene was heavily influenced by how Lynch, Frost and Badalamenti wanted you to feel. Now, that isn't to say the music was imposing; it did not force you to experience a scene in a certain matter. Think of it more as eating a particular cheese with a specific kind of wine. The pairing is appropriate and delicious, without demanding anything out of the consumer. Separate they are still enjoyable, but something about their blending is spectacularly moving. If anything, the music gave us more questions than answers, much like the plot itself. The haunting theme song alone swells with ambiguity and suspense. How then does the revival implement music into its narrative? It does so quite differently than its predecessor, yet with a somewhat familiar touch. The revival is like a color pallette, it has shades and tones similar to its parent series, but is at the end of the day, a completely new hue of its own. Musical cues are used sparingly in the 18-hour television operetta, with many scenes accompanied by total ambient silence. A notable moment is when Bobby Briggs sees Laura's old prom photo and begins to cry. Laura's theme instantly chimes in at the sight of his tears. In The Return music comes much more from the diegetic landscape of the world of the characters themselves. A performance at the Roadhouse Bar bookmarked almost every episode's conclusion. Many of these performances were done by famous and up and coming musicians across various genres of music. Naturally, with Lynch, a song is never just a song. The themes at play in that particular hour of the series hold some significance to the musical selection at the dreamy bar. At times it is unclear if the Roadhouse Sequences are even taking place in reality, especially at the end of "Part 16" with Audrey, but one thing is for sure; the performances are as magnanimous as the series they are being featured in. From Nine Inch Nails to Eddie Vedder, the musical performances evoke both Lycnhian aesthetic alongside MTV Unplugged nostalgia. Music is the black coffee of the Twin Peaks mythology, it's not an absolute necessity, but it gives it that thrilling kick in the pants it needs to be even more phenomenal.

Back to Laura: My View on The Finale

Whether her name is Maddy Ferguson or Carrie Page, Laura Palmer should be seen as a spiritual essence as opposed to just a girl from a small town. Long ago she was sent to us (likely from the White Lodge) to combat evil forces beyond our comprehension. We learn the name of this ancient mystical force in "Part 17", Judy. Lynch's choice of a female force being the true antagonist is perplexing. Does one wonder if this is to emulate Eve betraying God and eating the forbidden fruit? Men may be abusers, but women are the real threat to humanity's demise. This notion is far fetched and unlikely the real intention of the material. Judy and Bob merely represent the darkness humankind is capable of, male or female. The reason Judy holds the greater power is because women give birth to life forces, whether they be good or evil. If Laura is a Christ figure, Cooper must then be an apostle, a guardian sworn to protect this coveted soul from harm. The Log Lady seemed to be a seer of sorts and was likely imbued with a pearl of higher wisdom to help guide White Lodge Knights like Cooper in their quest to rid the world of this destructive force. In the original series, he fails in saving Laura, but only because he was unaware of his true path. Perhaps Judy had a hand in making him forget, the same way she disposed of Phillip Jefferies as he was nearing the truth years ago. By the time he learns his true purpose, he was trapped inside the Black Lodge for over a decade. Notice that once he escapes, it is not his divine goal to destroy his doppelganger, this duty is delegated to a woman, Lucy. Again, women give life and therefore, can take it away just as easily. It's also important to note that with Mr C death, Lucy has come full circle in the Circle of Life. She has given life (to a Marlon Brando impersonator) and has taken it away. Now back to Cooper, he doesn't stop Mr C or give the final blow that ultimately defeats Bob, because those weren't his true missions in the grand scheme. His mission was to save Laura at all costs. Laura would bring an end to Judy's destructive power. That's why Judy took hold of Sarah Palmer, feeding off her grief for the family she lost, Sarah was like a human capacitor for pain. Judy needed all the energy she could harness in order to fight against Laura and the White Lodge denizens. She manages to take Laura from Coop when he escapes to the past, but with instructions from the Fireman, Cooper manages to find the alternate reality where Judy is hiding her.

What then of the final scene? Why does Carrie/Laura scream? Where are Sarah and Leland? Why does Cooper behave so unusually, even for Cooper? I don't have an answer, though I've read the thoughts of many people who believe they do. All I can tell you is that the moment I saw Sheryl Lee silently glare up at the Palmer house and let out a blood-curdling scream I thought about the immense trauma inflicted on her character throughout the show. I thought about the trauma of all incest victims, sexual abuse victims and victims of addiction. Laura is their symbol, their tulpa of pain and suffering. What she feels, they have felt a million times over. No evil force, no matter how powerful can truly strip her memory of the horrific acts of inhumanity that she has been a part of. Laura remembers who she is, and in that recollection, she finally expels herself of all the hurt she felt inside her. The lights of the Palmer house go out because they cannot hurt her anymore. She has transcended herself with the help of Cooper into something entirely new. The ending may be bleak, it may mean her and Cooper are doomed, or it could be a covertly upbeat ending with Judy's venomous evil being defeated and all turning right again in this troubled world. The answer isn't there, no matter how hard someone tries to find it. There is just a scream and a blackout. We are left unknowing, but not unfeeling.

In the end, there are thousands of way to interpret the finale and the mythology of the Twin Peaks franchise in itself. Perhaps all of those theories and interpretations are correct, maybe none of them is. That is the confounding beauty of the world Lynch and Frost created for us. It raises the value of questions instead of pandering to the incessantly gluttonous need for answers. Art that puts trust into the hands of the observer is an art that will withstand the test of time. Twin Peaks will never die out, because like Laura and Coop, we are bound for infinite universes of possibilities. We all have the privilege of being the dreamer who lives inside a dream. Whether that is through the art, we create, or directly from the satisfaction of immersing ourselves in reruns and binge-watching. There will never be a definitive explanation for these glorious images and actions other than the one given by the late great Catherine Coulson.

"Laura is the One."

The world of Twin Peaks says quite a bit about who we are as a society, the things we choose to see or not see. How many Laura Palmer's die, simply because no one decided to ask what was wrong in the first place, or chose not to notice? Becky, played by Amanda Seyfried, seems well on her way to adding to the town's tragic legacy. Can a waitress or security guard be as much of a hero as an FBI Agent? Do we constantly search for answers without really understanding the questions in the first place? The questions are what keep us going, not the explanations. The citizens of Twin Peaks live idly in a sea of questions, adrift in psycho-spiritual bliss.

What does Laura whisper to Cooper in the Black Lodge in that final shot? I'm not quite sure, but it's incredibly exciting to stare in awe and wonder and to ponder the possibilities with yourself. It is the viewer's cup of steaming hot coffee, appreciate it. We don't get them as often as you may believe.