Daddy0’s review published on Letterboxd:
The Dance of the Dream Man persists: corruption is projected, the corrupted are imitated, the wind rises, garmonbozia is harvested, catharsis is reestablished, and the city of man keeps on trucking. No doubt the Black Lodge is the dark prince of this world that René Girard describes: “The system of powers Satan has engendered is a concrete phenomenon, material and simultaneously spiritual, religious in a very special sense, efficacious and illusory at the same time. It is religion as illusion, which protects humans from violence and chaos by means of sacrificial rituals.” The arcane ceremonies mesmerize us away from the truth, but the symbols draw us toward it. It's a detective's duty to decipher these things, and “we're all like detectives,” making vain pretense our wanderings to guide.
Lynch's parasitic demons thrive in obscurity, beneath the small town microcosm's collective, unconscious facade. The question is whether their workings, which the audience is the more in awe of the less we understand of them, will ultimately be exposed. The question is whether human unanimity (cowardice before the crowd), in perpetuating these violent cycles under the sycamore trees, will ultimately be broken. The question is whether Laura Palmer laughs with the flickering angel screen in true, transcendent relief or in a kind of hysterical submission to the deceiver's order. Whatever the case, in a great inheritance from the light of the world, this television fuzz is illuminating the dark of the world. “For there is nothing covered that will not be revealed, nor hidden that will not be known.”