Without “Twin Peaks,” we wouldn't have the TV series we know

In 1990, television and cinema were two separate worlds that rarely intersected. TV was primarily a tool for entertainment and information: with soap operas, millions of people passively gathered in front of the screen, following endless and repetitive plots with often interchangeable characters; with game shows, audiences enjoyed watching games and cash prizes, while news was delivered by newscasts and talk show debates. Cinema, on the other hand, was considered the seventh art: an expression of storytelling, invention, and language. If cinema was intellectual, television appeared trivial. All this changed in 1990, when David Lynch — already acclaimed as one of Hollywood’s most celebrated directors thanks to films like Eraserhead, Dune, The Elephant Man, and Blue Velvet, and winner of the Palme d’Or at Cannes that same year with Wild at Heart — decided to reinvent the TV series, laying the foundations for contemporary seriality and anticipating many of the features we now recognize in the most successful series. Thirty-five years ago, on April 8, 1990, the pilot episode of Twin Peaks aired. And from the very first notes of Angelo Badalamenti’s Twin Peaks Theme, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same again.

Twin Peaks marked a turning point in television history, not so much because it directly influenced later series (Would Lost have had the same impact without the surrealism and supernatural element of the Black Lodge?), but because, as critic John Powers observed, "it revealed the potential of the television product." The series helped establish elements we now consider fundamental to serial storytelling: the coexistence of vertical plots (episode by episode) and horizontal plots (long-term), the psychological complexity of the characters, the attention to cinematography, editing, and soundtrack, and above all the construction of a strong imaginary world, made up of memorable places and figures. In other words: without Twin Peaks, there would be no Lost, Breaking Bad, True Detective, or many of the most relevant works on the small screen. The first two seasons of the series, aired between 1990 and 1991, consist of 30 episodes created by Lynch in collaboration with producer Mark Frost. The pilot episode was an extraordinary success: 32 million viewers in the United States, drawn by the blend of genres orchestrated by the two creators. The entire series is permeated by a sense of ambiguity and duality, with a style that blends soap opera, noir, horror, and a strong supernatural and surreal component.

The protagonist, FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper, played by Kyle MacLachlan, arrives in Twin Peaks, a small town on the border between the United States and Canada, to investigate the murder of Laura Palmer, one of the school’s most beloved girls, daughter of a respectable family, found dead and wrapped in plastic near a lake. During the investigation, Cooper comes into contact with the townspeople, whose lives intertwine in an increasingly dense and disturbing web, amidst dreamlike and surreal atmospheres: dwarfs and giants, a woman who communicates with a log, mysterious owls, factory workers, '90s teenagers dancing to '50s jazz music, and comical situations like visits from Cooper’s boss, Director Gordon Cole, deaf and forced to shout, played by Lynch himself. An entire generation grew up waiting for Thursday night, captivated by one of the most iconic catchphrases of the 1990s: "Who killed Laura Palmer?" The answer to that question arrives after a few episodes into the second season, against the will of Lynch and Frost, who were forced by ABC to prematurely reveal the killer’s identity. This disruption caused a decline in ratings, only partially recovered with the season’s final episode, which aired on June 10, 1991: one of the purest manifestos of Lynchian language.

But that wasn’t truly the end. Twenty-five years later, just as foretold in the enigmatic and prophetic ending of the original series ("I’ll see you again in 25 years"), a third season arrived in 2016, consisting of 18 episodes once again written by Frost and Lynch, and entirely directed by the latter. The result was a full-fledged work of art: stylistically, directionally, and in terms of acting, it was extraordinary — with few comparisons in TV history. The third season resumes some of the plots left hanging in 1991, but does so with an artistic rigor that refuses any compromise with market logic. Few nods to fans, no easy answers: only Lynch and Frost’s desire to continue exploring new languages and narrative structures. Because if 35 years ago Twin Peaks invented the TV series as we know it today, with the 2016 sequel, its creators proved they could once again deconstruct, revolutionize, and transcend it.