There’s a reason Twin Peaks still lives rent-free in the brains of off-center TV lovers more than 30 years after it upended the conventions of nighttime television. While Agent Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan), Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), and that red-curtained fever dream get most of the attention, it’s the Log Lady, the show’s quiet, strange prophet who somehow distilled all of David Lynch’s eccentric magic into one unforgettable character. Played by Catherine E. Coulson with the kind of seriousness you don’t expect from someone named after a piece of wood, she quickly became a cult symbol and emblematic of the show itself. And now, in Richard Green’s touching documentary I Know Catherine the Log Lady, we witness the twilight performance of an iconic character and the rich life of the woman who gave her voice.

The premise alone feels like something out of the show itself: weeks after Lynch confirmed the Twin Peaks revival, Coulson was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. She didn’t tell everyone right away, keeping it quiet to not upset the people she loved, and instead focused on staying alive long enough to say goodbye—on screen. Spoiler alert: She made it, logging her final scenes mere days before passing in 2015. But Green wisely expands his lens beyond this poignant final chapter, exploring the fascinating totality of Coulson’s life.

What elevates this documentary from being a tribute piece with a soft touch is how deeply it digs, often refusing to stay in the safe zone. Of course, there are talking heads: Lynch (speaking more freely than usual), Mark Frost, MacLachlan, Grace Zabriskie, Kimmy Robertson, and other Peaks alums drop in to sing her praises and share moving memories and raw truths. But Green lets the story breathe beyond its connection to Twin Peaks. We see Catherine’s start in experimental theater, her behind-the-camera chops as a collaborative assistant cameraperson (working on films like Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and numerous others) and assistant director working with Lynch on Eraserhead (where her first husband was the star), and a life marked by curiosity and an almost obsessive work ethic. It’s a warm, sometimes funny portrait that doesn’t flinch when things get messy.

Not all of those stories are neat. Coulson’s second husband, William Haugse—also a producer on the documentary—talks with unnerving frankness about his manic episodes, affairs with men during their marriage, and his reunion with Catherine near the end of her life. It’s emotionally thorny territory, handled with tact but not sanitized, and these revelations are treated not as bombshells but as truths. This honesty becomes one of the film’s strongest qualities, with a straight-talking intimacy to many interviews and a refusal to airbrush the people involved, even as everyone’s reverence for Catherine, who had her own mix of grace and grit in relationships, remains clear.

Structurally, Green takes risks that can be more ambitious than polished. Instead of moving linearly, the timeline bends—starting with the cancer diagnosis, rewinding to her early life, and then back again. It’s an emotionally fitting approach for a story focused on memory and legacy, but it leads to a choppy, sometimes inelegant rhythm. The constant reappearance of name cards, even for the same people within seconds, becomes distracting. So do the abrupt tonal shifts that mar the flow: tender moments interrupted by title cards or tricky jumps that feel more like DVD menus than narrative decisions. The film wears its crowdfunded budget on its sleeve (1,751 backers contributed over $290,000), which is admirable but also obvious. And yes, the end credits song—written and sung by Green himself—feels like a vanity moment the film didn’t need.

Still, that roughness doesn’t sink it or undercut the heart that runs throughout. You leave I Know Catherine the Log Lady with the sense that you truly knew her. Not just as the woman cradling a log and cryptically warning of owls, but as the human being behind the Lynch-ian weirdness. Someone who worked constantly, gave of herself generously, and stayed remarkably practical with a wry sensibility despite existing inside one of television’s most surreal universes. When she knew the end was near, she tried to make it easier for everyone around her. That’s not just noble—it’s inspiring. Watching her deliver her final lines, log in arm, fully inhabiting Lynch’s bizarre niche corner of TV history one last time—it lands. Hard.

Since its completion, the film’s resonance with the idea of community and feelings toward life and death has deepened unexpectedly. Lynch’s recent passing casts his footage in a haunting new light, the same with Donna DuBain, Catherine’s lifelong friend, who also appears and has since passed. Their reflections on mortality, art, and friendship now carry added weight. Something is striking, devastating even, about watching people wrestle with the end while they’re still very much here.

You don’t need to be a Twin Peaks obsessive to appreciate this documentary or to connect with this story. It might work better if you’re not. I came in with only a casual understanding of the series and left feeling that I’d gotten to know someone truly remarkable. That’s what the best documentaries do. It’s a document of loss, yes, but also about the life before it. Of someone who mattered. And in Catherine E. Coulson’s case, it was big, complicated, and deeply, beautifully lived.