chapter 2 - error / noise
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Noise is the forest of everything. The existence of noise implies a mutable world through an unruly intrusion of another, another that attracts difference, heterogeneity and productive confusion; moreover it implies a genesis of mutability itself.
—Douglas Kahn, Noise, Water, Meat |
Though a central point of the plot in the first two series of Twin Peaks, Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) is an absent presence; she appears briefly as a corpse, her photograph is featured heavily in the scenes of her former home and she occasionally appears as some version of herself in the red room/black lodge. In Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me[1] (Lynch, 1992), Laura’s last seven days before her murder are documented in context of the other eerie happenings within the town. Though, temporally, a prequel to the original series, it is my intention to analyse FWWM as an isolated work of art. The landscape of the film differs wildly (though with themes in common) from its series counterpart and maps an entirely unsettling insight into the American Dream (world). Contained within this, I will focus specifically on the errant aesthetics of the film, largely portrayed by motifs of erroneous electricity, visuals and noise. This will be structured within generalised sub-chapters; 'Errant Electronic Systems: Light & Dark' which will focus specifically on TV static, lighting and electricity and 'Noise and Silence as Stylistic Device' which will discuss the odd sounds within the film as well as the frequent miscommunications that occur throughout. Whilst I have aimed to provide a range of examples within this chapter, the occurrences are too abundant for me to consider within the bounds of this word count and thus, I will specifically concentrate on those which I personally deem to hold the most aesthetic value in terms of analysis. I will conclude that the errant visuals and audio render the film as senseless within the boundaries of being able to follow the almost soap-opera narrative whilst uneasily being assaulted by reminders of the trauma and, for the most part, the spectator is kept beyond the realms of orderliness by spectres of trauma.
Errant Electronic Systems: Light & Dark
TV Static:
FWWM opens with the credits rolling over a flickering blue background which is revealed to be an un-tuned television and, as the camera pans out, the television is smashed in what looks and sounds to be the scene of the murder of Theresa Banks (Pamela Gidley) [00:03:00], though, as I have proposed is commonplace in Twin Peaks, the horror is happening beyond the frame. Immediately afterwards in this introdcutory scene, Agent Chet Desmond disappears and we see Agent Dale Cooper at FBI Headquarters with Gordon Cole. After sharing with Cole a dream he had, Cooper walks between the hallway and the CCTV room full of televisions. Here, Phillip Jeffries (David Bowie) appears behind Cooper on the screen and renders him static on-screen [00:28.21], while, actually, Cooper has gone beyond the frame of the CCTV camera. When Jeffries arrives in Cole’s office, he is interrupted by the TV static. The scene then fades into the static and we are above the convenience store with the lodge spirits where, once again, the static fades in and out as the spirits communicate and Jeffries’ voice fades in to the conversation [00:29:25] and the word “electricity” is spoken from an unknown mouth in a close up shot [00:30:06]. The effect of this is that the viewer is reminded, over and over, about the horror that the dispersing TV static revealed a horrific crime (even if we don’t see it). In chapter one I quoted Nicolas Royle’s notion that “the beginning is already haunted.” (2003, p. 1) and, again, it is appropriate to note the horror of beginnings and in this case the visuals that accompany the horror seemingly randomly interrupt the viewer experience. Such patterns of repetition and anxiety are a well-used trope within the horror genre (here, I include film, TV, art and literature) as a means of engendering a conscious and substantiated reaction of anxiety and apprehension within the spectator who is conscious that they may have to re-experience the trauma that was seen, heard or felt. Like a ghost, the TV static effect reoccurs to haunt the viewer, and especially occurs at times of anxiety; ghosts “are always inscribed in a context: they at once belong to and haunt the idea of a place.” (Bennett and 2004, p. 133). If then, we accept the TV static as the ghost of the first traumatic event in the film - the murder of Theresa Banks - then it is logical to assume that Lynch, in including the narrative device, is inviting the viewer to relive the horror via erroneous aesthetics. TV static, while a wider nod to the flaws of technology, signifies a (literal) acceptance of not achieving the pleasure of the (any) aesthetic – the pleasure awaits the spectator, once again, beyond the frame of the physical medium. As such, the TV static in FWWM, both withholds a desire to ‘see’ and signifies Lynch’s desire to remind us we are not immune to that which “cannot be pinned down or controlled” (Royle, 2003, p. 15-16).
FWWM opens with the credits rolling over a flickering blue background which is revealed to be an un-tuned television and, as the camera pans out, the television is smashed in what looks and sounds to be the scene of the murder of Theresa Banks (Pamela Gidley) [00:03:00], though, as I have proposed is commonplace in Twin Peaks, the horror is happening beyond the frame. Immediately afterwards in this introdcutory scene, Agent Chet Desmond disappears and we see Agent Dale Cooper at FBI Headquarters with Gordon Cole. After sharing with Cole a dream he had, Cooper walks between the hallway and the CCTV room full of televisions. Here, Phillip Jeffries (David Bowie) appears behind Cooper on the screen and renders him static on-screen [00:28.21], while, actually, Cooper has gone beyond the frame of the CCTV camera. When Jeffries arrives in Cole’s office, he is interrupted by the TV static. The scene then fades into the static and we are above the convenience store with the lodge spirits where, once again, the static fades in and out as the spirits communicate and Jeffries’ voice fades in to the conversation [00:29:25] and the word “electricity” is spoken from an unknown mouth in a close up shot [00:30:06]. The effect of this is that the viewer is reminded, over and over, about the horror that the dispersing TV static revealed a horrific crime (even if we don’t see it). In chapter one I quoted Nicolas Royle’s notion that “the beginning is already haunted.” (2003, p. 1) and, again, it is appropriate to note the horror of beginnings and in this case the visuals that accompany the horror seemingly randomly interrupt the viewer experience. Such patterns of repetition and anxiety are a well-used trope within the horror genre (here, I include film, TV, art and literature) as a means of engendering a conscious and substantiated reaction of anxiety and apprehension within the spectator who is conscious that they may have to re-experience the trauma that was seen, heard or felt. Like a ghost, the TV static effect reoccurs to haunt the viewer, and especially occurs at times of anxiety; ghosts “are always inscribed in a context: they at once belong to and haunt the idea of a place.” (Bennett and 2004, p. 133). If then, we accept the TV static as the ghost of the first traumatic event in the film - the murder of Theresa Banks - then it is logical to assume that Lynch, in including the narrative device, is inviting the viewer to relive the horror via erroneous aesthetics. TV static, while a wider nod to the flaws of technology, signifies a (literal) acceptance of not achieving the pleasure of the (any) aesthetic – the pleasure awaits the spectator, once again, beyond the frame of the physical medium. As such, the TV static in FWWM, both withholds a desire to ‘see’ and signifies Lynch’s desire to remind us we are not immune to that which “cannot be pinned down or controlled” (Royle, 2003, p. 15-16).
Electricity:
Lighting:
The erroneous lighting/strobing effect is another well-used effect in the horror genre that seeks to disorient the viewer and withhold/highlight certain visuals/information. While Lynch uses it for this same reason, he also employs it to explicitly highlight and keep hidden scenes of abject horror. Lynch sets this scene in particular, as a scene so aligned to the German Expressionism movement which used high contrast darkness and lighting to put forth a distorted and obscure form. Here, it can be suggested that Lynch refers back to this antiquated aesthetic period as a means of rejecting any logical or rational aesthetics and, instead, embracing what is not traditionally ‘aesthetically pleasing’. Specifically, the near-concluding scene of Laura’s murder forgo any subtlety and brazenly employs this ‘strobing’ technique that indicates that an errant electrical source is lightening the scene (though the strobing doesn’t seem to come from any logical place on the disused train carriage) and is faded-in by the TV static [02:02:58]. As Leland/BOB bludgeons Laura to death [02:04:46], the spectator is only witness to some aspects of the murder as the lighting flashes errantly to only partially show the trauma of the scene. What is shown in the instances when the scene is ‘lit’, is close ups of Laura’s bloodied mouth and Leland’s and BOB’s interchangeable deranged and determined expressions as they rain blows down upon her, interspersed with images of The Man from Another Place. What is ‘hidden’ when the scene momentarily goes black is, presumably, more of the same. This lighting effect carries on until Leland carries Laura’s body from the train carriage and only recommences once Laura arrives in the Black Lodge. Seemingly, it would appear (but who really knows) that the ‘angel’ is accountable for providing the ‘light’ on the train and within the Black Lodge – this realisation induces a relief in Laura as the end-credits roll. Similar to the reoccurrence of the TV static, the errant lighting besieges the spectator periodically, often overtaking the audio (subtitles were only added in Europe upon its DVD release and were not included in the VHS release) and that which is being communicated is obscured from the viewer, further distancing them from the horrific events taking place.
The erroneous lighting/strobing effect is another well-used effect in the horror genre that seeks to disorient the viewer and withhold/highlight certain visuals/information. While Lynch uses it for this same reason, he also employs it to explicitly highlight and keep hidden scenes of abject horror. Lynch sets this scene in particular, as a scene so aligned to the German Expressionism movement which used high contrast darkness and lighting to put forth a distorted and obscure form. Here, it can be suggested that Lynch refers back to this antiquated aesthetic period as a means of rejecting any logical or rational aesthetics and, instead, embracing what is not traditionally ‘aesthetically pleasing’. Specifically, the near-concluding scene of Laura’s murder forgo any subtlety and brazenly employs this ‘strobing’ technique that indicates that an errant electrical source is lightening the scene (though the strobing doesn’t seem to come from any logical place on the disused train carriage) and is faded-in by the TV static [02:02:58]. As Leland/BOB bludgeons Laura to death [02:04:46], the spectator is only witness to some aspects of the murder as the lighting flashes errantly to only partially show the trauma of the scene. What is shown in the instances when the scene is ‘lit’, is close ups of Laura’s bloodied mouth and Leland’s and BOB’s interchangeable deranged and determined expressions as they rain blows down upon her, interspersed with images of The Man from Another Place. What is ‘hidden’ when the scene momentarily goes black is, presumably, more of the same. This lighting effect carries on until Leland carries Laura’s body from the train carriage and only recommences once Laura arrives in the Black Lodge. Seemingly, it would appear (but who really knows) that the ‘angel’ is accountable for providing the ‘light’ on the train and within the Black Lodge – this realisation induces a relief in Laura as the end-credits roll. Similar to the reoccurrence of the TV static, the errant lighting besieges the spectator periodically, often overtaking the audio (subtitles were only added in Europe upon its DVD release and were not included in the VHS release) and that which is being communicated is obscured from the viewer, further distancing them from the horrific events taking place.
Noise & Silence as a Stylistic Device
Noise:
Silence.
I mentioned briefly above about the strobe lightening affecting the audio in some scenes and, here, I will aim to briefly outline some of the instances where an almost-silent communication takes place and I will put forth that is yet another device used by Lynch in order to alienate the viewer and, it is my conviction that this particular exclusion of the viewer engagement is set out to make the viewer reflect on how much he/she is involved in the presumed two-way dialogue between producer and spectator. One scene that is archetypal of this technique occurs when Laura and Donna (Moira Kelly) visit the nightclub, Power and the Glory [01:15:37]. The viewer is able to see that communications are taking place but it is very difficult to understand due to the music and disorientation due to the ‘strobing’ effect (though, with subtitles on, there are a number of odd and seemingly disjointed conversations taking place). However, though the literal conversation can easily be misheard (or not heard at all), the music, lighting and atmosphere communicate the wider point of the scene sufficiently. A short time in the film later, Laura and her father Leland are driving to breakfast when they are approached by Mike/The One-Armed Man (Al Strobel). While Mike is trying to communicate with Laura that her father is BOB, Leland revs his engine and screams, drowning out the conversation and adding to the cacophony of noise already filling the scene. Laura, not wanting to understand the words of Mike/The One-Armed Man, screams to drown out the information she knows to be true. In this scene, and others, Mike can be seen as, literally, the return of the repressed (Freud, 1915). The viewer, then, witnesses this horrific scene, again, as an outsider, whose own interests in gleaning information from the scene are dismissed by Lynch. Whilst there is very little to no literal ‘silence’ in FWWM, often characters are silenced by other Medias in post-production as symbolic of their inability to communicate either with each other or to the viewer.
I mentioned briefly above about the strobe lightening affecting the audio in some scenes and, here, I will aim to briefly outline some of the instances where an almost-silent communication takes place and I will put forth that is yet another device used by Lynch in order to alienate the viewer and, it is my conviction that this particular exclusion of the viewer engagement is set out to make the viewer reflect on how much he/she is involved in the presumed two-way dialogue between producer and spectator. One scene that is archetypal of this technique occurs when Laura and Donna (Moira Kelly) visit the nightclub, Power and the Glory [01:15:37]. The viewer is able to see that communications are taking place but it is very difficult to understand due to the music and disorientation due to the ‘strobing’ effect (though, with subtitles on, there are a number of odd and seemingly disjointed conversations taking place). However, though the literal conversation can easily be misheard (or not heard at all), the music, lighting and atmosphere communicate the wider point of the scene sufficiently. A short time in the film later, Laura and her father Leland are driving to breakfast when they are approached by Mike/The One-Armed Man (Al Strobel). While Mike is trying to communicate with Laura that her father is BOB, Leland revs his engine and screams, drowning out the conversation and adding to the cacophony of noise already filling the scene. Laura, not wanting to understand the words of Mike/The One-Armed Man, screams to drown out the information she knows to be true. In this scene, and others, Mike can be seen as, literally, the return of the repressed (Freud, 1915). The viewer, then, witnesses this horrific scene, again, as an outsider, whose own interests in gleaning information from the scene are dismissed by Lynch. Whilst there is very little to no literal ‘silence’ in FWWM, often characters are silenced by other Medias in post-production as symbolic of their inability to communicate either with each other or to the viewer.
I have intentionally covered an array of errant motifs within this chapter and have resisted from attempting a too-close, analytical reading that is founded in established theory. Rather, I have attempted to both avoid an insincere reiteration of the many academic works that exist on Lynch’s works and to also look over some key scenes with a view to understanding how the viewer exists, with its director, in between a simple passive state. David Lynch affords the viewer some of the comfort that is present within the first two seasons of Twin Peaks, but, at times and where I have documented in this chapter, purposely aims to severely discombobulate the connect between viewer and scene and thus, both Lynch and his captive audience exist beyond what is expected. David Lynch’s use of erroneous aesthetics throughout FWWM signal that, although this specific film is less abstract than his other ‘art’ and is driven rather by narrative, his ability to purposely disturb, seduce and disconnect the spectator from her/his passivity remains as it does in his other more expressionistic works. It is my intention, in the next chapter to show how Lynch completely removes any level of comfort for the viewer by embracing and illustrating the anxieties and perplexities the world in which he created the 2017 revival, the digital era.
[1] I will refer to this FWWM from this point forward.