David Lynch

Questions submitted by my devoted Twitter fanbase:

Who was Stan, again? What did he do? Where did he grow up? Was he on LinkedIn? Facebook? What was his favorite TV show? How did he feel about the second season of “True Detective”? What did Stan even look like? Was he this guy? Or this guy? Why the past tense? Why do you think? Who killed him? Frank’s upset about his death, but why should I care?

As always, readers, thank you for your questions. Though I watch each episode of “True Detective” twice, write about it to fill my time as well as a certain amount of column space, and spend more hours each week thinking about the show than is socially responsible, I can only answer the last question with any degree of certainty: You shouldn’t care — not about the man himself, at least, who turned up murdered in episode three while working as one of Frank’s loyal goons. What you should care about, though, is what he left behind: a wife and a son. Frank and Jordan visit them in the sixth episode to deliver Stan’s cash earnings in a thick envelope.

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Previously on “True Detective,” not only was corrupt Vinci city detective Ray Velcoro (Colin Farrell) left for dead, supine after taking two shotgun blasts to the torso, but so were the acting chops of Vince Vaughn, who, also on his back, delivered a mawkish opening monologue from which the rest of episode two barely recovered. So it is my pleasure to report — and in keeping with this season’s focus on fathers, sons, legacies, gifts from one generation to the next, all the odds and ends of immortality — both Velcoro and Vaughn are risen, given new life in the third episode, which so far is this season’s most tightly plotted entry, and its most aesthetically evocative. Go out and share the good news.

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David Lynch, a filmmaker so idiosyncratic that the best way to describe his work is by invoking his name, said movies can compensate for the limitations of language. In a New York Magazine article from 1990, he’s quoted as saying, “When you can talk about it, you’re not using cinema.” And yet it’s impossible not to talk about “Mad Max: Fury Road,” surely a piece of cinema in every sense of the word: it’s art and it’s definitely (one hell of) a movie.

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