Cinematic Codes in David Lynch’s Fire Walk With Me

In ‘An Introduction To Film Studies’, Allan Rowe states ‘In normal film viewing we experience simultaneously a number of codes: visual, sound and the codes controlling the linking of one sound or image to another’. These cinematic codes work to produce meaning in a film.

In David Lynch’s 1992 film Twin Peaks : Fire Walk With Me the narrative meaning of the film is more than ambiguous rendering a full understanding of the film difficult. Different perceptions of reality are presented side by side in a wholly non linear plot that not only places a greater emphasis on the cinematic codes contained within to produce meaning, but also makes an analysis of them and their function within the narrative interesting in and of themselves.

Twin Peaks : Fire Walk With Me, the film prequel to the hugely successful television series, is a dystopic and bleak analysis of both the distinction between surface and depth in small town America and of the descent into her personal hell of the central character, Laura Palmer. The cinematic codes at work serve not only the generic purpose of providing the clues for what is essentially a surrealistic thriller, but also to provide meaning to the often disparate sequences of action and also to reinforce the feeling that the audience is not only witnessing but participating in the creeping insanity of the lead character, suggested by the film’s fascination with walking.

This is, however, achieved primarily by the constant use of point of view shots and a distinctive and multi-layered soundtrack that in many ways is more captivating because it works on a subliminal level, that is to say that while we are more aware of the image and the images production, sound passes through in a less scrutinized form.

While even a rudimentary glance at the credits clearly highlights the importance of sound to film, cinematographer Ron Garcia also plays an important role. Changes in the relative view of reality are highlighted and in many ways signposted by subtle changes in the framing of shots and the quality of the image. Indeed, the cinematography is possibly solely responsible for the pervasive sense of voyeurism that links the two separate sections of the film. The mise en scene, especially Lynch’s use of decor and props, takes on a dual purpose of publicly and explicitly rendering meaning not only to the film as a whole but to the plots within.

A good example of this is the early scene involving Lynch himself and Agents Desmond and Stanley and the mysterious Lil. Her costume is quite explicitly highlighted as being important, strong and vibrant reds and illuminated blues standing out from the dark, flat background against which she is placed. This importance is further stressed as the two agents discuss precisely what she was wearing.

In terms of acting, the film is even more clearly divided into two sections, the prologue subtitled ‘Theresa Banks’ and the longer second part chronicling the last seven days of Laura Palmer. In the prologue dialogue is if anything under delivered and very much played down, whereas in the second section the emphasis is placed far more on emotion and action and reaction, helping to create in the audience the nerve jangling sense of fear and desperation. Despite these differences, in terms of cinematography links can strongly be made between the narratively ambiguous prologue and the main drive of the plot in the second section.

Of all Lynch’s feature films FWWM has the most unusual construction. Time and reality are distorted creating a strong sense of chaos and loss that is indicative of the central character’s role. Cinematographer Ron Garcia produces a quality of image that is both deliberately cool and unreassuring. Even the home interiors, generally havens of warmth and safety, are unwelcoming, generally shot from low angles to reinforce the sense of menace and fear that Laura feels towards her home environment. The film, however, concentrates primarily on its many exterior shots, the sequences in the Fat Trout Trailer Park perhaps best highlighting the fact that the prologue is infused with a cold and cutting autumn light.

Despite the profusion of natural light, all the characters present in these scenes are wrapped up against the cold, increasing the feeling of unease that the sequences create with this seemingly unnatural image. The rest of the film juxtaposes different atmospheres suited to the different levels of reality which are presented. The sharp light is mirrored by static shots, seamlessly cut together when conventional reality is dominant. In the more surreal scenes, however, image merge, the focus is softer, giving a more dreamy, unreal quality, and the use of fades and dissolves proliferate. This clearly indicates a shift in perception and a focus more on the subjective responses of the characters, if not for this device the action would border on the incredible. A prime example of this is the sequence of three shots following the revelatory scene between Laura and Harold Smith.

1. C.U. from low angle – the ceiling fan spins
2. M.C.U. Laura – she stands on the stairs looking faint. She is bathed in a red glow.
3. M.S. Red velvet curtains, seen from a high angle, sway in the Red Room.

Firstly, the final shot from the previous scene fades to black. The shots themselves give the impression of being in slow motion, the lighting is now relatively warm and unnatural in opposition to the other scenes and far from being edited neatly together, they dissolve from one shot to the next, the images almost merging. As the final shot merges into the next scene at the FBI offices, one of the visual motifs that is used to highlight these more hallucinatory passages is seen. For the briefest moment, the shot of the curtains is merged with a far fainter shot of television snow.

Visually, the most striking and original aspect of the film is its use of upsetting shooting angles and frames. On many occasions, especially the scenes between Laura and Donna in the Hayward house, shots are taken directly from above. Symmetrical houses, like the Palmer house, are framed slightly off center to distort the symmetry and disorientate the viewer. Both of these elements are used to good effect to generate a sense of imbalance that is presented as a metaphor for Laura’s life and as a visual technique to promote Laura’s point of view.

This overt identification with Laura is reinforced throughout the film with its focus on walking. The first shot we see of Laura is of her walking, with the camera walking with her, which as the title suggests is the idea at the heart of the film, to walk with Laura to the very end. As Michael Chion suggests in his book ‘David Lynch’, FWWM heralds one of the most surprising walking scenes in all cinema. The scene after school in which Laura is confronted by Bobby is not only visually disorientating, perhaps highlighting Laura’s recent use of cocaine, but illustrates Lynch’s original way of subverting the films diegetic and non-diegetic sound to reinforce the overall sense of dislocation and submersion. As Bobby backtracks towards the entrance to the High School, a rhythmic piece of apparently non-diegetic music begins, but in one of the most bizarre shots in the film, begins to develop an impression of being diegetic as not only Bobby but the assorted extras begin to move in over exaggerated gyrations timed perfectly with the soundtrack.

More than ever, Lynch took part in the construction of the soundtrack to the film, being credited not only as sound designer but one of a number of sound re-recorders. Inaugurating a new computerised mixing system, Lynch produced a soundtrack that contains a confusion of stressed sound effects. The themes and intrinsic meaning of the film are not just illuminated by the film sound but reinforced by it. The constant sound, activity, the source and nature of which are often obscure, is one of the films most original aspects and acts as a metaphor for the turmoil that is Laura Palmer. As more and more pressures pull her towards her ultimate demise, the soundtrack and effects disorientate us down the same path. As Chion notes ‘It creates a sense of the screen as a fragile membrane with a multitude of currents pressing on it from behind’.

The setting of the film, familiar to fans of the television series, is used to a much different effect in the film, especially in the framing of particular locations and sets. One visual link between the prologue and the rest of the film, although this device is far more prevalent in the prologue, is that many of the characters are framed against window or doors. In the local Sheriff’s office, Agent Desmond exits, passing by a maze of tightly compacted doors almost identically laid out as the later scene in the Palmer house when Laura, in a disturbing mix of close up and point of view shots, discovers Bob in her bedroom.

The fact that during the opening section many of the characters are framed by doors and windows increases the sense of voyeurism that pervades the film and gives an early indication that these characters are somehow merely onlookers in the story that is to follow, which in reality they are. The sense of danger and closeness (Laura’s killer after all is her father) is also introduced in the prologue through the lighting.

Many of the shots have only one, often very visible, source of light. This serves to create a depth of shadow that is both menacing and disturbing. In the scene in Hap’s Diner, Desmond and Stanley sit drinking coffee, the doorway in darkness behind. Later at the FBI offices, Special Agent Philip Jefferies emerge from the darkness of an unseen lift. In the town of Twin Peaks itself, the danger again is from the darkness of the thick forest that surrounds it on all sides. The prologue again sets up and reinforces this idea; as Gordon Cole (played by Lynch himself) is speaking on the phone with a huge painting of a forest covering the wall behind him, the densest part shrouded in shadows and lurking menacingly over his shoulder.

In studying cinematic codes, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me presents many interesting questions and difficulties. While in the film they do serve to produce a level of meaning that the plot appears to care little for, they perhaps function more to create a level of subjective empathy, identification and the right sorts of feeling to accept what is happening within the film, rather than an objective understanding and explanation of what is taking place.