TP The Return, or more aptly TP The Retcon
See, you're forgetting about multiple dimensions 'n' stuff, and the mysteries of electricity and numerology, and the fact that The Final Dossier... well, yes, okay, The Final Dossier seems to confirm that Laura never really died, which I'll admit is a bit retconnish, and before it was published I berated anyone who suggested it might say as much then I went really quiet for a bit afterwards
but if you squint your eyes hard enough and count to ten and smoke a zeppelin and watch a few times at four times the broadcast speed and remember that The Master is The Master, and ignore the carnival sounds inside one's head,
plus don't forget Brecht's Epic Theatre, which I'm a huge fan of, by the way, barely a week went by when me and the other TR cognitive dissonance lads weren't down the front row in the local arts centre bombed out of our heads and grooving along to the old Brechtian alienation effect, long before there was any talk of a TP revival...
But yeah, check our posts here in the weeks leading up to May 2017 and you'll see the only thing we said we wanted more from this revival than lots and lots of terrible acting, minutes of floorsweeping and the like, Cooper's fate to be decided by utter randomness after a wait of a dozen episodes, the virtual disappearance of Badalamenti music, minimal use of the original cast, refusal of suspension of disbelief, obsessive self-tribute from The Master, The Master talking up his dong followed by reaction shots from women half his age, for the demon who repeatedly took the infant Laura to the woods for cumplay and sliced her privates and raped her for years before bludgeoning her to death to have his storyline’s climax not just played for bellylaughs but as pinball/pantomime farce...
Where was I? Where am I? What's happening?
Oh yes, the one thing we kept begging for more than the above treats was that Laura's body wrapped in plastic be shown fading from the screen just to sucker people into thinking it was a retcon. It was hilarious
the way they all fell for it.
There are unquestionably carnival sounds inside my head. There are TR haters' names and addresses scrawled on the inner surface of my skull, including yours, Mr so-called 'boske'. There's a smell of decaying hamsters. Cognitive dissonance hell. Mother, please get me out of here.
Thanks to Jerry Horne for finally sorting out this thread. Mind you, the fact that this was necessary tells its own story. Imagine fans of Mad Men having to gather on a thread that hated it to get some decent discussion...