The Path To The Black Lodge

In a brilliant, brilliant, brilliant re-imagining of Chekhov's much ballyhooed dramatic structure, in which the gun in last week's fourth act goes off in this week's first, we fade about halfway in (because Washington State is synonymous with "Arctic Circle" to a writer's room located in the middle of the desert, I suppose) on the face of Allegorical Pawn #2, eyes and mouth open in shock. His head is still surrounded by the giant chess piece that encases him, the chess piece still standing in the middle of the gazebo. Because Chekhov's theory for what constitutes "drama" certainly wouldn't have failed to mention the spine-tingling conventions of "chess" and "gazebo." Anyway. A team of law-enforcing personnel far larger than we're used to seeing grace the halls of the police station attends to the body because, well, I guess nothing says "sign me up for the TPPD" like "dead urchin in a chess piece." With great effort, they hoist said piece up on their collective shoulders and carry it like pallbearers at some kind of fucked-up Bobby Fischer Theme Funeral down the steps of said gazebo.

The "ruzza ruzza" of "carrying it carefully" and "not moving too fast" ensues from the gazebo and right past Cooper, Truman, and Hawk in the process of questioning a short, pasty, rather distraught-looking "The Giovanni Ribisi," who intones "oh, man" because the ratio of short and pasty actors getting acting jobs in the ten years or so is roughly equivalent to "one Giovanni Ribisi per one Hollywood." Sorry, squirt. I guess you're out of luck. But for now he'll shine, wearing his backward red baseball cap and a shirt with a skull on it and an acid-washed denim jacket because he's bad, man, as he forlornly asks Cooper, "Rusty?" Ribisi exposits that Rusty "got [him] in with the band." He's a roadie. So I guess last week's Stryper comparisons weren't really that far off base after all. And here's me, getting so weak-kneed in the presence of fame! Truman asks what they were doing in Twin Peaks, and Ribisi explains, "We were supposed to play a gig in Knife River, but a tire on the van crapped out." Cooper takes it from there: "And then you met someone." Ribisi returns the volley, explicating that a guy came out of the woods "like Big Foot or something," and Rusty went with him for the aforementioned beer Rusty wanted so badly. That sucks. What a shitty way to die. But it will provide just the necessary "when it all came crashing down" moment for Rusty And The Big Foot's Behind the Music, in which the poor, fun-loving fellow who just wanted to play in a band was ultimately done in by the final few episodes of Twin Peaks. He wouldn't be the only one killed by such a scourge, of this I assure you. Either way, Truman informs Ribisi, "We'll have to get in touch with Rusty's parents," providing the necessary catalyst for Ribisi to become sad because, well, "Rusty hated his parents. He's staying with his uncle in Moses Lake." God. Way to flip from the "K" (Knife River) to the "M" section of The Yokel's Guide To Rustic Winnebago Travel Through The Hastily Named Pacific Northwest, Volume Fifty, Ribisi. And so he continues, "We were gonna move. We were gonna move to LA." Ribisi starts to cry. Andy starts to cry. You guys think this was sad? You should have been there for the scene where the dude loses his arm and thinks he'll never drum again. Not a chess piece in sight, but I assure you it's dramatic as all get out.

Considering the Dead Guy nature of the scene, it's a little jarring when Truman, Cooper, and Andy saunter into the sheriff's station, the last of them holding two boxes of donuts, and gleefully bid Lucy a good morning. They must really hate people in bands. Lucy alerts them that there's someone with Hawk in Truman's office, whom she's never seen before but who "looks really sad." Cooper and Truman disappear to the craft services table to ponder this show's recent creative upswing and ponder what kind of convertible they're going to spend their season three bonus checks on, but Lucy calls Andy and his donuts back. He approaches her desk, and she point-blanks two waste-of-time subplots at the same time (her baby, some beauty pageant thing I've been futilely trying to ignore) with her question, "What do you know about saving our planet?" He knows "it's in a lot of trouble." She tells him that tomorrow is "D-DayDad Day. Tomorrow I will choose the father of my child. Deputy Andy Brennan" -- Andy smiles brightly at this option -- "or clothing salesman Richard Tremayne." Heh. I'm surprised she didn't call him "Our Returning Champion." Andy asks what all this has to do with Miss Twin Peaks, and Lucy continues that she could use the money. She regards what I guess is her stomach when she says this, but it's entirely possible she's gazing down at her Dress For Less floral blouse ensemble. Poor Lucy. She has shopped, she has shopped Strawberry today. Anyway, Lucy continues, "I have to make a speech about saving the planet, but I have no idea how to go about it. Yet." Andy says something about people throwing their beer cans in Pearl Lake and Lucy takes pen to paper immediately, so Andy goes on, "Styrofoam never dies for as long as you live." Lucy looks horrified: "It doesn't?" At which point an early-1991 McDonald's, eager to package this new "McNugget" thing they've been working on in the least environmentally-sound manner possible, reneges on their sponsorship deal with this show, and then it really has no reason left to stick around and wait for that ad revenue from PETA or TwinPeaksPIRG to start pouring right in to keep this mess alive.

Great Northern. John "Miscarriage Of" Justice Wheeler saunters through the lobby and toward the concierge's desk, wearing what looks like a maroon ones-y I wouldn't see fit to put on the target age group for people who live their infant lives in a ones-y. He asks the concierge if Audrey is back yet. No. No messages? No. He asks, "Will you send someone up to get my bags, please?" Yeah. Get his bags. To change his clothes. Or put one over his head. Whatever it takes. Just go.

Ben's office. Doc Hayward has just finished examining Ben Horne in Ben's office, and we hear Ben complain, "The insurance company sent me so many forms I could get a heart attack just lifting them," before we cut to Hayward's POV to discover that Ben is sitting on his couch. Shirtless. Gah. Get that man an any-color ones-y, and do it in a damn hurry before his decaying body gets another hour older. Please. Hayward -- conveniently having just become Ben's doctor for the first time, I guess -- assures Ben, "You're fine. It's what's in your heart you should be worrying about." Shirtless Ben (for this is his creepy naked alter ego) tells the good doctor that he knows Doc has reason to doubt him, but continues, "I'm only interested in doing the right thing for everybody." Okay, then: right arm through the hole. Now left arm. Now you're wearing a shirt! The Manboobs Of Naked Old Men that primetime TV so often sees fit to spare us are now concealed! Good, Mr. Horne. Good. Except he's still not wearing a shirt. Good Lord. Doc goes on, "Stay away from Eileen!" Ben says that he can't "as long as the lie survives," and Hayward says he applauds Ben for trying to do the right thing, but "there's nothing good about ruined lives." Knock knock. Wheeler, now in a leather jacket with an upturned collar that finally answers that persistent TV mystery, "Whatever happened to KITT's interior" enters. He shakes hands with the good doctor and topically puts foot in mouth with the unwitting, "I've met your daughter. She's a lovely girl." Hem. Haw. Shirtless. Hayward goes, and Ben finally puts on a shirt. Wheeler, just two plucked eyebrows in a sea of pressed powder skin, breaks a new revelation to Ben: "A friend of mine. He was more than a friend, he was a partner. He's been murdered." Was it Stryper? What chess piece did he turn up in and in what gazebo and where? Or maybe he, like me, was killed by manboobs. There's just no worse way to go.

Up in an attic at the Hayward house, Donna "Slim Fastest" Hayward peruses some old files and comes across her birth certificate. She's never needed a copy of this for some kind of shot or driver's license or college application or low-fat garnish before? Either way, she reads down it to discover that the "father's name" blank has been left empty. A phone rings downstairs as she folds the certificate in thirds and stumbles across a photo album containing billions of pictures of the happy Haywards, with a smiling Ben Horne lingering in the background of every shot. Nice seventies clothes and Groucho Marx mustache on Ben, y'all, but these pictures were taken, like, three hours before this scene started shooting. But God, that mustache. No wonder these are all socked under some wood plank in the abandoned attic. I would do that too if every picture of me began with the explanation, "And this was when Ben was in the Witness Protection Program." Donna's mom calls from downstairs that Hawk is on the phone and that it's "important." I wonder if Donna also finds it weird when, upon further inspection, she discovers that her birth weight was a negative integer.

Audrey's home! She walks right to the concierge's desk and picks up a number of messages, then proceeds toward Ben's office. Hawk, who has been sitting on a chair contemplating "the polluted land and how it pollutes the souls of those untarnished" (or at least that's what the writers would have us believe he's contemplating), tells Audrey that Cooper needs to speak to her at the station immediately. Star-crossed, Wheeler and Ben sit on the steps of Ben's office and discuss how Wheeler isn't coming back. Ben fears that he is "weak" without Wheeler's help, and is sorry that Audrey wasn't there to say goodbye. Wheeler hands Ben an envelope and asks him to pass it along, standing to leave. Ben calls after him, "Good luck!" Wheeler takes off without a word. Slam. And stay out.

Back at the police station, a young-ish guy with Truman-ish hair in a black leather jacket attends to Major Briggs, who is saying, "See if any of these symbols have to do with harvest schedules or ancient calendars." Mini-Truman offers, "Got it, chief," and walks past Truman and Cooper on their way through the door. Truman pats him on the shoulder and tells him, "Good work, Kappy." Wait, what? Just how many episodes did I sleep through, anyway? How did I miss the heralded introduction of "Kappy, the police station intern"? Is this being done for the spin-off potential for ABC's upcoming Kappy, The Police Station Intern? Clearly, I have many, many questions. Anyway, Briggs launches in: "Earle was the best and brightest among us. But when our attention turned from outer space to the wooded areas surrounding Twin Peaks, he became destructively obsessive." By way of example, Briggs has some Project Blue Book archival footage in the form of a black-and-white tape of Earle leaning into the camera, ranting about "a secret place where the cultivation of evil expands in exponential fashion." The Black Lodge. As directed by Darren Aronofsky. Cooper reminds us that when Earle came to Twin Peaks, everyone, including the writers, thought it was because of a personal vendetta. But, as it turns out, it wasn't. At all. Fancy that, writers. Instead, Cooper tells us, "He has insinuated himself into the lives of people I care for. He has murdered innocents. He has engaged us in subterfuge and red herring -- a fish I don't particularly care for." Wasn't that joke already used six times in Clue? Thanks. "But all of these acts are merely camouflage; he's been after something all along. The Black Lodge." He points to the chalk drawing on the blackboard and tells us all that there must be some connection between the petroglyph and the Black Lodge. Briggs says he's going to go for "a walk in the woods," which Cooper thinks is "a good idea." He's so wrong. That is such a bad idea. A close-up on The Mysteriously Unexamined Bonsai On The Desk cuts us to Windom, aurally surveying the conversation. He giggles, "I know something they don't know," and as he plays Lemonade Stand on his Radio Shack computer, Leo walks slowly up to a stack of books on top of which the shock buzzer sits and puts it in the pocket of his robe. Earle slaps away the chess board and throws some blueprints on it. Goodbye, chess game.