Categories
BLOG

mister jackpots

Lady slot-addict

Lady slot-addict

Biographical information

Residence

Family

Behind the scenes

Actor

Biography [ edit | edit source ]

Following her gambling addiction, the woman lost her home and her relationship with her son, Denver. Disheveled and malnourished, she frequented the slot machines at the Silver Mustang Casino. [1]

One September, Dale Cooper showed up at the casino and, dazed and confused, began imitating the patrons and playing slots with quarters the cashier had given him. On his first try, he won a Mega-Jackpot, while the old woman stared at him in envy. He pointed at the machine next to hers, but she angrily muttered at him and gave him the finger, then did the same to the camera mounted on the ceiling above her. [1]

After Cooper won another jackpot nearby, she rushed to the machine he had pointed at and played a game, which also resultd in a jackpot. She cheered and clapped, ecstatic. [1]

Now calling Cooper “Mr. Jackpots,” she sought his advice on which machine to play, and won yet another game. She jumped up and down, thanking him effusively. [2]

The woman used her winnings to rehabilitate herself, buying a house and a small dog and reconciling with Denver. Days later, while at Santino’s with her son, she was delighted to run into Cooper at Santino’s, where he was dining with the casino’s owners Rodney and Bradley Mitchum. Nearly moved to tears, she explained how she had turned her life around and said she owed him everything. She then said to Mitchums that she hoped they knew what a special person they were dining with. [3]

A slots-addicted old woman met Dale Cooper at the Silver Mustang Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. Following her gambling addiction, the woman lost her home and her relationship with her son, Denver. Disheveled and malnourished, she frequented the slot machines at the Silver Mustang Casino.1 One…

Please Help Mr. Jackpots

Rob Hutton
Jun 16, 2017 · 3 min read

I’m usually pretty immune to being scared or disturbed by movies and television. I watch horror movies for their aesthetics, but can’t remember every being really freaked out by one. Maybe it’s my training as a critic or maybe just my personality, but I tend to approach fiction with a level of remove instead of becoming emotionally invested in it.

It means something, then, when I say tha t the new season of Twin Peaks disturbs me . When I’m watching, I find my skin crawling, become deeply uncomfortable, and wish that I was doing something else right now. When I think about it later in the day, I shudder. I’m not talking about the double murder which sparks one of the season’s central mysteries or the strange goings-on in the Red Room. I’m talking about Dougie Jones.

If you haven’t been watching, one of the main plots in Twin Peaks: The Return involves Agent Dale Cooper, the hero of the original series, being resurrected in the place of a middle-aged businessman named Dougie Jones. (Also known as Mr. Jackpots, after an eerily successful run at a local casino.) As Dougie, Cooper is seemingly stripped of his language and his reasoning, and wanders the world repeating things people have said to him and being pushed and pulled by external stimuli. The rest of the world largely doesn’t care, and treats him as an irritatingly reticent version of the man he replaced.

It’s this indifference that unsettles me. Dougie’s wife, boss, coworkers and just about everyone else he runs into can see that something’s wrong. But they quickly move on to their own problems, and usually berate him for one failure or another. I suspect that this is Lynch’s point, showing the cruelty of the world by demonstrating how it relates to a perfect innocent. Dougie is shuttled from home to work and back again, with no one being curious about his inner condition, because all that matters is that he fulfills the roles assigned to him by capitalism and the nuclear family — and, as it turns out, mere bodily presence is often enough to do this.

There’s a more personal reason for why these scenes disturb me so much. I was diagnosed on the autism spectrum as a teenager, and have always faintly felt like I was adrift in a world angrily demanding something incomprehensible from me. Dougie Jones, to me, reads as a distinctly autistic character: he is often non-responsive, except when having extreme responses to tactile stimuli, and is unable to grasp the simplest elements of human interaction. My own autistic symptoms are nowhere near as dramatic, but there are certainly moments — like when Dougie can’t figure out how to tie a tie, or when he scribbles all over work documents — that resonate uncomfortably hard with me.

When I see Dougie Jones on television, I want to give him a slap, and then give everyone else in the room one too. I want to teach him how to get through a hostile world. And I want to comfort him. But all I can do is watch. It’s a bit like a panic attack, watching ones own irrational behavior from the outside and being unable to do anything but wince.

So if you’re someone in the world of Twin Peaks, be it a retro-chic housewife or a psychotic killer, please take pity on Dougie Jones. Sit him down, get him his favourite coffee, ask him if he’s okay. And if he doesn’t or can’t say anything, let him know that’s okay too. Try to find some accomodation to help him do what he needs to in the world. Someone, please, help Mr. Jackpots.

I’m usually pretty immune to being scared or disturbed by movies and television. I watch horror movies for their aesthetics, but can’t remember every being really freaked out by one. Maybe it’s my… ]]>