Our friend Michael Ontkean—who memorably portrayed Sheriff Harry S. Truman on Twin Peaks (1990–1991)—shared with us a personal remembrance of David Lynch, titled David Lynch and His Infinite Playground.
David was a carpenter of the soul. He built elaborate sandboxes for the purpose of abundant playing. He understood that actors and actresses, are basically tall children...the more playtime, the better. And it's always soulful. With David, it's always some form of homemade circus, some sort of offbeat pagan ritual. David was an ultra rare songbird who will continue to be heard and seen; continue to be admired everywhere films are shown anywhere on this, or any other planet.
Years before my first meeting with David, several actors played a significant part leading up to that fortunate event. John Belushi talked me into going to a midnight showing of Eraserhead. We were enhanced with some substance, or some combo ingested earlier that night, so my sense of what was actually on the screen ended up somewhat murky and certainly unreliable. The Elephant Man was the opposite. Mel Brooks was the producer. He had an office at 20th Century Fox right next to Paul Mazursky. We were in post-production for Willie & Phil. Mel was also in post-production. He arranged an afternoon screening for Paul and a few of us working on the two movies at that time. The vast world conjured by David in a small room that afternoon was mesmerizing and profound. It was clear to everyone we were in the cinematic presence of a master.
Blue Velvet firmly and indelibly confirmed to both Jeff Bridges and me one evening that this guy Lynch is some kind of ancient alchemist. Out of thin air he creates a palpable, enduring atmosphere. You don't see the strings, don't see any wires, you don't see the elusive rabbit or the twisted yellow brick road, until David decides to give you a glimpse via a subliminal tidbit of unexpected music.
Praised and embraced universally, Blue Velvet had also done well at the box office. David was primed and perfectly positioned for a follow-up feature film. However after four long years of close calls, the financing was not forthcoming which remains a prime and puzzling absurdity of this industry. Financing eventually surfaced from a television source, yet David's intention was clearly to make another personal, idiosyncratic feature film.
Twin Peaks had a working title of Northwest Passage. I had no desire to be in a TV series. None at all. I was eager to work with David, and figured there was no way on God's green earth that a major American network in 1990 would actually put something this quirky and subversive on the air. This was simply a chance to do a strange film with the unique man who had created Blue Velvet.
His hair stands thick, tall, postmodern rockabilly. I happen to be walking tall with the recent birth of my second daughter. Twilight time, late fall, smog-filled Hollywood. Indoors, but it feels like we're outdoors somewhere in Maine or Oregon. Somehow we quickly discover our birthdays are within a couple of days of each other in the very same year. It also arises we both began Tibetan meditations from a similar lineage within a few months of each other. Upon hearing I had sung with The Platters as a kid on Cross-Canada Hit Parade, David's eyes glisten and his hair stands taller. David has on a vintage, meta-cool fishing jacket and I keep looking all around us for an open box of tackle and maybe a big bucket filled to overflowing with fresh river trout. He admires my funky jacket which my friend Mitsuhiro Matsuda made for me. David probably cast me as the Sheriff of Twin Peaks so he could get some real good chances to steal that jacket.
A miraculous curtain surrounded the birth of David's Twin Peaks movie. Odd pieces aligned. The atmosphere was both mellow and buzzing with electricity. Mischief, mayhem, and mystery were continuously tickled into vibrant Lynchian moments. David folded his unique humor into each day as he personally swaddled cast and crew with giant truckloads of good cheer. I loved every minute of preparing, watching, listening, forsaking sleep and then harmonizing on playdates with fellow cast mates.
Less than a week in advance of actually shooting, there is a rehearsal the first morning on our location north of Seattle. An empty, nondescript general activity room at the Red Lion Inn. No crew, no observers; only David, Kyle, and Michael. The Lynch magic is present right away; subtle, easy, and full of sandbox fun. David creates the conditions and maintains a wide open atmosphere for all the essences of the Cooper/Truman relationship to come alive. He does this by being purely and absolutely attentive to whatever is humming in the immediate air. Kyle and Michael, meeting for the very first time, fall into a percussive rhythm suggested by David and get warmed-up by doing a couple of off-the-wall riffs on a few of their favorite Led Zeppelin and Kate Bush recordings.
David is constantly ready to incorporate anything and everything into a scene. He's fully and completely akin to Thelonious Monk. A brotherhood is being born, and it certainly ain't three adults searching for solutions...it's a rave without the drugs. In the slipstream of our musical bonding adventure, this newly formed trio piles into David's rental car. He proceeds to debut the freshly composed theme music. Pure pleasure. A transcendent out-of-body experience! Angelo's melody is spare and irresistible. In a completely visceral way, it captures and communicates David's vision for the movie. That endlessly compelling theme wraps everything in a sublime gift basket. At this precise moment, we know we are on our way.
Time Magazine celebrated our initial Twin Peaks as "the most hauntingly original work ever done for American TV." Brother David used TV network money to make another deeply personal film; a follow-up to his Blue Velvet. David was simply doing what he knows to do: Having a ton of fun making a home movie with a bunch of loved ones on the picnic blanket of his imagination.
-Michael Ontkean
