“Let’s rock” was my least favorite hour of the season. That sequence of Lynch’s Gordon Cole delighting in the protracted exit of French Woman was balanced by Albert Rosenfield, acting as our surrogate, punishing his self-involved boss with death glares that scream-asked ‘ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME?!’ You could practically the see the ticking clock of the show - and our patience - reflected in his piercing, unblinking eyes. It was an episode of interstitial existentialism - people waiting on people to do something, people lost in translation or transition - and it was knowing about it, too. It was an hour of stretched, deliberately paced scenes that exulted in silence and language, stares and codes, withholding and feeling.
“Let’s rock” was a lot of anti-rocking, a collection of Lynchian cool-hand slow riffs that indulged in his interest in timing, texture, and other aesthetic obsessions, many of them embodied in the vividly lipsticked, tightly packed va-va-va-voom! feminine form of a woman only known as “French Woman” (Bérénice Marlohe), which I suspect was sly nod to the fact that Lynch has always been beloved by the French. After a promising start, the episode decided to model Sarah’s fragmented mind and subverted, still-life existence. The first few scenes - the origins the Blue Rose Task Force the red curtain intro and sly deputizing of Diane the sinister stuff with mentally unstable Sarah Palmer (a terrific Grace Zabriskie), a broken soul under the influence of spirits of all sorts (who was that clanking around in her kitchen? Some Woodsmen? Zombie Laura?!) - certainly stoked the coals for another apocalyptic barn-burner. “Let’s rock” - an allusion to the Man From Another Place and Agent Cooper’s first Red Room dream - suggested an acceleration, maybe 60 minutes of warp-drive Black Lodge lunacy, maybe the restoration of Cooper to full, integrated, souped-up Cooperness. But coming off the brilliance of last week’s “Black Hole Sun” outing, I think fans thought Part 12 would commence a tear toward the endgame. It was a peculiar affair of drawn-out moods that played to me like Lynch indulging himself in various ways while he still had time for it, before the realities of time, space, and narrative obligation force him to set course for the show’s final destination and drive toward it.
Maybe Lynch felt something similar while piecing together Part 12.
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