Drive With A Dead Girl

Fade up on a nighttime shot of The Palmer House of Non-Ambiguous Daughter Murdering (um, spoiler?), accompanied by a soundtrack featuring a sustained, dissonant orchestral chord and prerecorded screams providing a similar amount of realistic terror to those pumped through the speakers behind your slowly moving tram car on "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride." Dissolve to the following morning, where a shot of moodily, non-blowing (oops. Could someone get around to plugging in the machine that makes theyeah, thanks) trees pans down to a slightly tighter shot of the house. And then we're inside, panning past the oft-filmed Laura shrine of framed photographs: Laura as a pig-tailed youth, Laura as a beaming prom queen, Laura smiling through the obvious humiliation of forgetting that the Twin Peaks Middle School annual "Dress as Your Favorite Cheryl Ladd Circa 1978 Haircut" theme day fell on the very afternoon as her family's Glamour Shots appointment (that shot is harder to find. It's there, but it takes some searching), Laura snorting blow with a fat Frenchman behind an abandoned train car while a scraggly long-haired demon man takes a club to the back of her head and tweezers to her fourth finger. Oh, wait, that last one actually never made it to the mantel now, did it? But if it had, buh-bye series, eh?

Continuing the pan over the Laura Ashley Couch of Once Domestic Bliss and the Smartly Placed Throw Rugs of Their Forgotten Sensical Past, into the frame enters a mess of golf balls and accompanying tees, littering said couch and floor while the sound of a sinister chuckle punctuates the fact that some eerie, eerie shit is going down in this house. Panning, panning, panning, over to a patch of green on the floor with a pile of golf balls to it. A club raises on high and we cut back to see Leland "Too Happy Gilmore" Palmer, standing in the living room, hitting ball after ball. After ball. Leland is still wearing the suit he was wearing at the end of the last episode, which I believe is supposed to indicate that he's been actively and consistently vying for the golf legend title of "The Tiger Woodsof DOOM" for the greater part of the past twelve hours. Even though it's 1990, and Tiger Woods is, like, four. He's the only golfer I can name, so handle the hackneyed reference as best you can and we'll just move on, okay? Wait, here's another one: Arnold Palmer. I think he's a golfer. Either that or he wrote "Simply Irresistible." But I digress. For a freakin' change.

Leland stops his swinging to answer a knock at the front door, and is more than hospitable when he lets Donna "For Whom Good Nicknames Are Growing, Ahem, Thin" Hayward and James "Rosemary's Baby" Hurley in with a broad smile. They have come, it seems, to say goodbye to Maddy, but, according to Leland, "I dropped her off at the bus station not twenty minutes ago." I'm sorry, did he say "dropkicked her through the Gates of Hell [though to this jaded New Yorker, the difference between that place and Missoula, Montana remain a mystery], as my all-powerful self has the wont to do"? Because if he didn't, I'm not sure I think Leland is being the most truthful about Maddy's current whereabouts. I'm starting to think that maybe Leland isn't such a docile, good-natured golfing type after all. Leland continues, "She thought you were coming over last night." James asks if Maddy said anything, and Leland cocks an eyebrow and tut-tuts, "Well, I would have to say that she was a little bit disappointed." Hee hee. I so dig Leland the Murderer embarking on a passive-aggressive guilt trip at this particular moment in the plot progression. You've got to respect the acting ability of a character who can go from channeling "the rawest form of demonic possession of all mankind" to channeling "my Jewish mother" and then back again with such seamless precision. Sarah calls for Leland from the top of the staircase, and Leland excuses himself upstairs to go act the human bodily host for "Even-Keel Non-Demonic Killer Husband Guy" in another room of the house. This guy is like Cybill with a snappy designer suit and a killer handicap. Golf handicap, that is. He doesn't, like, have a hump suddenly or anything. Or is it "golf learning disability"?

Leland goes, and Donna and James take a moment to survey the living room. They notice dozens -- hundreds, even? -- of golf balls strewn all around the place, all over the floor, the two chairs, the side table, et cetera. And this man is a good shot, too, seeing as he was swinging with an open field's worth of ferocity and somehow managed to avoid the giant picture window at the far end of the room and numerous framed pictures on the wall. They gaze upon the sight and can barely stifle their childish giggles as Leland walks back down the steps and offers, "If you'd like, you could write her. I'm sure she'd be glad to hear from you." They think that's a kick-ass idea, because there's no such thing as e-mail yet. And apparently Ma Bell is still in short pants and yet to be a "ma" at all, considering that advanced technology known as "the telephone" is also never mentioned. Leland bids them both farewell, asking of Donna, "You say hi to your folks for me," failing to mention the taboo topic of James's mom, who has never appeared on camera and is also really busy with that eighteen-or-so-years-overdue pregnancy the tabloids keep writing all about. Bravo-promo-cakes as Leland gazes in the mirror and straightens his tie while Devil with a Blue Jean Jacket On looks back at him. From the top of the stairs, Sarah enigmatically calls down, "Remember to sign us up for Glenn Miller Night at the Club." Ooh, fun times. He calls up that he will not, in fact, forget. He opens the door to the living room closet and extracts his overcoat, unzips his golf bag, and in it places his club, to a huge mound of bloodied pulp he once called his niece. Hey, there's even a visible hand in there. And though I've alluded to the fact that I'm no golf pro myself, I can pretty much recap firsthand that her grip pretty much sucks. Oh, ha ha. Golf humor. I am so Cheech Marin in Tin Cup right now that it's not even funny. That's right. It's not funny. Leland grabs the bag, bids his wife a too-hearty goodbye, and leaves. He walks outside to his fifties-ish blue convertible, throws the bag in the trunk, puts the top down, and pulls out of the driveway, humming "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" from Oklahoma. Which will now be in my head until I die, and probably for several years after that. ["Mine too. Thanks. Thanks a lot." -- Sars]

Ben Horne is in lockup and, it must be reported, does not look so good. He's trapped behind bars and fiddling with a tube of toothpaste in a tiny, stained sink and acting in a far prissier manner than I saw in all of my Oz-recapping halcyon days. Even his once-impeccably pressed designer duds look like they've been treated with all the care of a polyester leisure suit yanked off the clearance rack at a Going Out Of Business Sale at the local Fashion Bug. Shouting ensues outside the cell, and Jerry Horne comes busting through the metal door with an introductory "Konichiwa" for his teeth-brushing brother. Apparently he's been doing some traveling. Jerry takes a good long look: "God, you look terrible." And he does. Fashion Bug bad, as I've mentioned. They hug (awwww), and Jerry outlines the current predicament: "Ben, since your regular mouthpiece has been charged with murder himself, I'm gonna be handling your case personally. So let's get started: Did you kill her?" Ben unembraces Jerry and utters an incredulous "Jerry, for God sakes." The diminutive Horne sits down on the lower bunk, lights a pipe, and inspires Episode 2 levels of hilarity with his continuation, "Sorry, you're right. The last thing a good defense attorney needs to know is the truth." Ben asks if his brother can get him out, and the camera frames Jerry as the pipe-smoking young Perry Mason that he so definitively isn't when he responds with great conviction, "They can only hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you." Pause. "Or is it forty-eight?" Ben sits on the bed and takes a cigar out of his lapel pocket. Pipes, cigars. My gosh, if this isn't just the most regal prison I've ever seen. Not to mention my palpable relief in encountering a cigar during a jail sequence with two men trapped alone in a cell and actually having it representa cigar, but that's just the Oz talking again, now isn't it?

Jerry gets the formal questioning underway: "So, where are we saying you were on the night Laura died?" Ben volunteers that he was with Katherine, which Jerry suggests isn't "a good choice." But it is the truth. Jerry asks if there's been any sign of her. "Bone fragments?" No. "Teeth?" No. "Charred corroborating note regarding your whereabouts?" Goddammit, I love that line. Jerry reiterates his exact sentiment in the exact tone as he did when he found out Laura was murdered, noting, "I'm so depressed." Poor guy's been through so much. Jerry stands and walks toward the sink, his vague imitation of a professional demeanor suddenly evaporating when he takes a survey of the entire cell: "Bunk beds!" He runs back to the beds and hops on the top one, officially joining the "But I get to be on top" quip in Big as pioneering advances in that niche comedy genre known to its fans as "inappropriate bunk bed humor." Damned if this moment isn't much, much funnier, too. Once comfortable on the top bunk, Jerry curls up, real fetal-like, and muses upon simpler times past: "You remember our first room, Ben? Me on the top bunk and you on the bottom bunk. And Louise Dombrowski dancing on the hook rug with a flashlight?" A non-sequitur says what? Was that line in there just to see if we were paying attention?

Apparently not, and for some reason, this memory cues a gauzy flashback sequence of a silhouetted girl holding a flashlight and dancing to a "Blue Moon" type of ballad that sounds like an unreleased B-side off of James Hurley and the Hurlettes' newest album, Can't Stop The Hurlin'. Dancing. Dancing. Dancing. Twice we cut to the bed itself, to spy two dorky-looking boys with black-framed glasses watching the dancing. And then back to the dancing. For TWO FULL MINUTES. I'd be happy to supply you with some more relevant details concerning this sequence, but really, there aren't any. So instead, here are the details of the phone call placed to my apartment during this Star Search audition's tenth exciting hour:

Sars: Hey, Djb, why is this recap so short?
Djb: Louise Dombrowski.
Sars: What?
Djb: Nothing.
Sars: You are so fired.
Djb: And with good cause, I might add in my own non-defense.

(Note to the literal: Dramatization. May not have happened.)

Over at the Sheriff's Station, Lucy enters carrying a teddy bear and attending to a blabbing doppelganger -- even more blonde than she is but just as relentlessly teased -- cradling a baby. Lucy spots Hawk and cuts off her identical counterpart, asking him, "Have you seen Andy?" Doppelganger jumps in: "Oh! You must be that native person I've heard so much about. Eagle-Eye?" Hawk provides her with the correct name before turning to Lucy and deadpanning, "Sister?" It is. Her sister's name is Gwen, and she has arrived straight from the Tact-Free Zone: "God, how you must hate us white people after all we've done to you." I would take the time to be more surprised and horrified if I weren't so darned accustomed to that kind of shoddy and misdirected so-called "political correctness" from back in my Vassar days. The baby cries just as the tear runs down the Indian's face at the end of that anti-pollution PSA from the seventies, and Hawk deadpans through the pain, "Some of my best friends are white people." Gwen looks appropriately confused and makes a mental note to rent Dances With Wolves because of how much she thinks it will open her mind.

Truman, Cooper, and Diane stroll down a hallway at the Great Northern, Cooper acting the informant on their latest dealings with the One-Armed Man. Rounding a corner, the two (well, um, three) come upon Leland in the lobby, where he is wowing the crowd with his moves, but less in a "Wow, he walks on air" kind of way and more in a "Wow, someone keep Fred A-Scare at a safe distance from my children" kind of way. And he's using his golf club! As a cane! Great touch. Someone do me a favor and shout that directorial subtlety into whatever hole Glatter crawled into after directing her last episode. And here's hoping I mean it when I say "last." Cooper asks Truman if Leland knows about the Ben Horne arrest, and Truman surveys the scene before soothsaying, "Doesn't look like it." Leland shakes and shimmies his way over to the two men, and Truman wastes no time: "We've arrested Ben Horne for Laura's murder. He hasn't been charged, but we're holding him." Leland furrows his brow and expresses an impressive kind of shock that accomplishes the dual tasks of convincing Cooper and Truman that he is truly sorry to hear the news while convincing the viewing audience that he is expressing utter sadness though barely concealing a palpable and delusional joy. Y'all feelin' it for Leland this week? I totally am. Leland asks if they have a strong case against Ben, and then looks dourly down at the floor and intones, "The law will handle this." Cooper: "As it should be." Leland walks away from them and makes it to the far end of the room, turning a corner and disappearing from sight. He puts his forehead on the golf club and begins to sob uncontrollably but, as Leland's creepiness dictates he must, he soon looks up and the crying turns to a silent, suppressed, teacher-just-sat-on-a-whoopie-cushion-but-if-we-laugh-out-loud-we-get-detention barely contained laughter. Back in the lobby, Cooper sends Truman on his way and walks toward Leland to investigate further. Staring into Leland's back, it appears to Cooper as if Leland is still sobbing, but Cooper is way too the coolest to let a ruse like this elude him for long. Cooper calls Leland's name from about ten feet behind. Leland clears his throat and looks up, his face becoming almost comically stony all at once. Cooper continues, "If you can remember anything unusual about Mr. Horne's behavior the night of Laura's death, would you please let me know?" Leland promises through the non-tears that he will. Cooper leaves, and Leland giggles anew. Tellingly, Truman meets Cooper back in the lobby and asks, "Is everything okay?" Cooper: "I'm not sure." Crafty. The lobby empties out completely, and Leland taps the golf club on the floor and resumes his jigtastic ways right on out the door. He's really good.