I Did It, I Found a Comfort Character (Sort Of)
There are no fancams of Shelly Johnson and Norma Jennings and that needs to change.
(Some mild Twin Peaks spoilers lay ahead. If you haven’t watched it and you’ve always been dying to, read with caution—and watch Twin Peaks!)
I’ve been watching a lot of Twin Peaks lately. It kind of started on accident; one afternoon while starting a new book—Empire Falls, a dense and meandering Pulitzer winning novel about the lives of the blue-collar workers who live in fictional Empire Falls, Maine—I decided to put the show’s soundtrack on as I read, hoping it would help evoke the intimate, sometimes spooky feeling that comes with living in a small town and paint that unique duality of community and desolation in my mind’s eye. Around the same time, I decided to make a blueberry lemon loaf that I had seen a recipe for on my Instagram feed a few days prior, and, while looking for something to watch from my laptop while baking, had a lightbulb moment and decided to throw on Twin Peaks. I thought that nothing would be better to tune in and out of as I washed the blueberries that were taking up too much space in my fridge or creamed butter and sugar together by hand (just as difficult as it sounds, but fun—trust me!).
It wasn’t the first time I had traveled to Twin Peaks, Washington, pop. 51,201. That would have been during my senior year of high school, when I, like many other teenagers at the time, was intrigued by the show’s moody screencaps that circulated Tumblr, the website where I spent all of my free time. It didn’t take me long to realize that the entire series was streaming on Netflix, so I dove in head first, not knowing much beyond gauzy imagery of neon, pine trees, and pretty girls puffing away on cigarettes. I quickly fell in love with the little logging town, its inhabitants human and supernatural, and wanted to know more beyond the show’s MacGuffin; Who killed Laura Palmer? As soon as I finished the series, I moved onto the movie prequel Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, which I consumed in the same way I did the series—laying in bed with my laptop sitting on my chest, the only light coming from the screen of my movie theater for one (yes, I do have terrible eyesight now, thanks for your concern). And four years ago, when David Lynch upheld his promise of seeing us again in 25 years, I greedily consumed the show’s reboot, an 18-hour cinematic event dosed in weekly installments each Sunday. To put it terms I use when discussing this with one of my friends, who feels similarly, it was one of the best summers of my life.
Back when COVID first reached the U.S. and sent us all scuttling into our homes, fearing fresh air and handshakes, I casually hit play on the first episode of Twin Peaks, figuring I would do a pandemic rewatch. One way or another, it ended up on the back burner, my attention span finding other shows and movies to use to cope with the Uncertain Times. However, one weeknight last month, I decided that I had the time. I put down Empire Falls, and I picked up Twin Peaks right where I left off.
One of, if not my favorite thing about Twin Peaks is that what hooks you in, Laura Palmer’s murder, isn’t even the best part of the series. That is intriguing, and the revelation of her murderer’s identity is… well, revelatory, but it hardly holds a candle to the interlocking lives of the people who live in the town of Twin Peaks. They keep it thrumming with the oddball energy that makes the show worth watching in the first place. I am of the belief that your favorite B-plot (or C-plot, D-plot… LMNOP-plot) of Twin Peaks says a lot about who you are. Almost like a zodiac, it can communicate what you want in life; where you are, where you’re going. It may change from rewatch to rewatch, depending on where you are on your journey of life. Like much else in this world, you take what you need. Trying for a baby? It might be Lucy and Andy Brennan with whom you sympathize. If you’re a brooding teenage girl, your favorite is Audrey Horne, hands down (guilty). My favorites this time around? Norma Jennings and Shelly Johnson, the duo of waitresses who work at Twin Peaks’ favorite eatery, the Double R Diner.
While each of these characters has their own personal life for us to parse through, I’m not really interested in their individual romances (okay—maybe not the romance of their relationship, but I’m always fascinated by Shelly shooting her abusive husband, Leo, and then making out with her boyfriend as Leo sits in a wheelchair in front of them, paralyzed. Feels like a blueprint for Amy Dunne!). I’m drawn to the relationship they have with each other. They’re a found family of a mother and daughter who seem to have entered each other’s lives at just the right time. And in the middle of a show that makes me feel out of my skin sometimes, I watch them interact and feel the urge to climb into my TV, sandwiching myself between them in a group embrace.
There’s always been something special about these kinds of storylines to me, where the unsuspecting find each other and form Teflon bonds no relation made by blood could break. The one of Norma and Shelly is one that many women find themselves making—oftentimes because our friendships have grown so close that we may as well be sisters who shared a womb, and other times out of survival. When I was in high school, my mom had a standing rule with me regarding a friend whose relationship with her own mom was on shaky ground: if she ever needs anything, or needs a place to stay, let me know. My mom didn’t have to say it, but at the time, I knew that hidden in her pledge to me was a confession that maybe she or someone she knew would have benefitted from having a woman offer the same to them when they were young.
“Comfort character” is a term created by stan Twitter that means exactly what it says: a character (or characters) that provides you with a sense of comfort when you see them. Your life could be at its lowest low, and you turn on your favorite show to see this person that makes the world feel a little less bleak and helps you to feel a little less alone. I should note that most of stan Twitter is comprised of teenagers, so this idea of a TV character serving as a security blanket makes a little more sense than if I, an adult woman (somehow) old enough to rent cars and open lines of credit, were to say that I identified strongly with a fictional character (I’m not going to deny those teens of that experience either; I was once a 16-year-old who cared a little too much about characters on Glee.). But I think I finally get it. There is something nice about tuning into a show that you know has characters that make you feel soft and warm and all of the good things in the world. TV is, above all else, an escape from reality. Whether you identify with them, or you want to be like them, there will always be characters and relationships we feel drawn towards. That’s the beauty of storytelling.
We continue to live in an era where the light at the end of the tunnel feels out of reach, getting smaller and smaller the longer we chug along (and the brightness of that light depends on who you are). Everything in my life feels adrift, with or without a raging pandemic. So of course I would find myself latching onto characters whose relationship serves no real purpose to the show’s plot, other than to make me feel like I’m a kid coming in from the snow on a chilly Saturday afternoon, and my mom’s made me a grilled cheese with tomato soup for dunking. They make me reflect on the relationships in my life that look a bit similar, and then I start to get weepy thinking about the day when I’ll be able to hug my family and friends again (soon!).
If I were a bit more inspired, maybe this would go on a bit longer with me pulling up examples of the queer subtext that may have existed between the two of them (hate to objectify women, but Shelly and Norma/the women who play them [Mädchen Amick and Peggy Lipton, respectively]? They’re hot!), which—why lie—would also bring me a similar sense of comfort. But in all honesty, it doesn’t have to. Sometimes I don’t think there’s anything that warms me from the inside out like watching two people platonically and wordlessly supporting one another. Especially now.
I’m about halfway through the final (reboot) season of Twin Peaks, and I’ll be sad when it’s over. If on my next rewatch (because there will be another), I find someone else that speaks to me, I’ll let you know.
See you in 25 years…
I love being able to send out these little transmissions to my family, friends, and anyone else who happens to read them. There’s something about them that makes me feel like David Bowie growling out the words to Space Oddity, and you’re all little astronauts bobbing around up there in space, waiting to hear something from me. The fact that you trust me to crank out something worth reading every once and while means a hell of a lot. Take your protein pills and put your helmet on (read my latest recommendations)…
Watch this: I truly haven’t been watching much other than Twin Peaks these days. If you haven’t watched Twin Peaks, I encourage you to try it—and I say try it because it’s not for everyone. It’s been so much fun to fall in love again with the weird little show I first fell for in high school. I’m trying to spend less time watching things this year. A challenge for me, but so far it’s going alright.
Listen to this: One of my favorite podcasts, Reply All, kicked off a miniseries last week called The Test Kitchen, which promises a deep dive on the racial reckoning that rocked Bon Appetit magazine last summer. I’ve only listened to the first episode so far, but it feels promising. That and the recipes featured in the show notes sound delicious!
Read this: The Atlantic is running a great project called “Inheritance,” which tells varying stories about being Black in the United States, told by celebrated writers from all stretches of life. One story, which kicked off their series earlier this week, is from Anna Deavere Smith, who I will follow to the ends of the Earth. She writes, I read. It’s that simple. Her writing knocks the wind out of you. Read her story, and then read everyone else’s.
Make this: Here’s that blueberry lemon loaf I mentioned earlier, the one that inspired my Twin Peaks rewatch. Actually, it’s a blueberry, almond, and lemon cake, but as someone who hates to bake, it was super simple and incredibly delicious. I’ve made it twice now. Turn on Twin Peaks and make a blueberry lemon loaf and thank me later.
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