The show is populated with unusual residents, written to reflect common narrative tropes found in American television. These characters then serve the ultimate purpose of underlining the un-reality of the mythos from which they sprang.
This makes the show fascinating to watch; but that sort of intellectual stimulation seeped in near unrelenting emotional darkness can get to a gal. Characters like Lucy Moran snap the episode back to a space where comedic relief (albeit a dark sort of humour) can occur.
Lucy sounds, acts, and looks like a stereotypical lovable, air-headed blonde (I’m sure her last name is a “moron” pun). She works hard at her job as receptionist at the sheriff’s office, fulfilling all types of unusual requests from laying out perfect towers of doughnuts for the men and sorting through files in search of pet bird owners. Every time I knew there was a scene with Lucy in it I felt an emotional sigh of relief, and wondered what sort of disarmingly honest things she would say or do.
Her intimate relationships with two men in Twin Peaks provide the show with romantic narrative foils, and do much in skewering idealized notions of the innocence of young love. She and Andy are one of the only couples who achieve a happy ending, while at the same time being two of the most apparently bumbling and well-meaning characters on the show.
Lucy’s character is reflected in her clothing. You’ll most often find her with some of the wackiest, most over-sized 90s sweaters the show has to offer. Her clothes tend to overwhelm her, emphasizing her small size, and embracing an over-done replication of that era’s “professional wear” for women. Her large clothes, paired with her small, high voice, create a cutting dichotomy in this sweet, benign figure.
Great Northern 