
Lynch turns away from the cult comfort of the television show and toward the thing it had circled: the actual terror and grief of Laura Palmer's last week alive. It is harrowing where the series was playful, a descent into abuse and dissociation rendered in pure nightmare logic. Audiences hated it on arrival and have spent thirty years catching up to it. Beneath the surreal horror is one of the most unbearable portraits of a young person being destroyed that the medium has produced, and a strange, late tenderness toward her, offered only after it is too late.
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