Drew Edelstein’s review published on Letterboxd:
I only knew your corpse.
The story of your life lay before me on the slab, your blood cold and your heart still, all that you were reduced to the flesh that people saw you for. Your hands were not the tools of beauty, the mechanism by which you imprinted yourself on the world and connected with others; they were a means to an end, evidence in a case, the mark others left upon you all that I cared to see them for.
I thought I knew everything about you. I knew who you loved and who you hated, who you confided in and who you used (and sadly, who used you in turn). I knew every flaw you had, every addiction you fought, every man you fucked, every mistake you made. I knew that you weren't as you seemed, because nobody ever is, because how could anyone be so simple and good when there is evil in the world?
I thought I knew you because I knew of you. I treated your life like a puzzle, each revelation a piece to find a fuller picture I could be satisfied with. In the process of searching, I reduced you to simply being a body on a slab, human in form and lifeless in essence.
I was wrong for doing so.
I am so sorry.
Here, now, I see you for who you are. A young woman, haunted by abuse, the premonition of your fate lurking in every shadow of your waking life. You were trapped in the role your were asked to fill, among the people who you loved and who loved you in turn. You were trapped as their ideal Laura, as the Laura who parties or the Laura who washes up before dinner or as the Laura who loves so sweetly or as the Laura who was the face of your town. How could anyone listen to the person you were when that meant you being someone different than who they wanted? How could we ever understand each other when are so fundamentally incapable of seeing each other for who we are?
I could never have imagined the cruel feedback loop you were trapped in, the clashing fuzz of different signals whose harsh cacophony drowned out all the beauty in the world. I could never have understood your beauty when your veins were cold, the agony buried within every strained smile, the constant struggle to find life in a world that seemed hellbent on destroying you. All the evidence pointed towards your victimhood stemming from your mistakes, patriarchal systems casting the crime that destroyed you as the consequence of bad behavior. I never considered why you made those choices, why you lived as you did, and how you lived in the moment. I only wish I had seen you as a person before now.
Life in Twin Peaks caused me to miss the forest for the trees, the secrets buried in those deep woods beckoning when I should've been looking for the goodness of the world instead. The warmth of my coffee, the sweetness of my pie, the illusion of security that proved to be so richly intoxicating, is meaningless compared to the people I got to know. That I could revel in the simple pleasures of life and find so much joy from my indulgences knowing that I was brought here for your death only burdens me with understanding what was truly lost.
Who killed Laura Palmer? Who would slay the homecoming queen, the beacon of Twin Peaks, you who seemed to tie every disparate strand of that strange town with your radiance? Why would they do it? How could they?
I spent countless hours finding out why, and was shown mountains of evidence that means nothing in the end.
All that matters is the soul that was lost, your beauty and goodness outshining all else in the world, like a firefly's last glow on a balmy August night. No matter what motive there was, no amount of truth can undo the harm that was done, and can heal all those destroyed in the wake of your passing.
You are more than just a corpse, because each body carries with them a lifetime of human essence, so beautiful and unique and vital to making the world matter.
Now, at last, I know your story.
Now, at last, I know you.