Let me start by saying this season of TRUE DETECTIVE was doomed to fail; nay, destined. Expectations were too high across the board, from #truefans who thought the series creator, Nic Pizzolatto, was the second coming of William Faulkner, to the #haterz who demanded Pizzolatto put the cap back on the can of existential worms he opened with his bayou barn burner last spring. Both camps were inevitably disappointed by Season 2, but like I said, that was bound to happen. So what did we really get from the sophomore effort of television's most controversial ride-along drama?
Confusion, mostly.
Season One tipped the scales for a variety of reasons, but one of the big ones, at least for me, was Rust Cohle. He's been served his own barrage of criticisms, but whatever your sentiment, the character's magnetism was undeniable. He was utterly unique to TV, a guy who seemed to know both everything and nothing, and couldn't care less whether anyone was actually listening, or whether they'd understood what they'd heard. He was a character who saw past flesh, right into the heart of things, and what he saw was always exactly what he'd expected. Much of his success should and has been attributed to the "McConaissance," but he was fascinating nonetheless, and audiences clamored for more. If only they hadn't.
Rust Cohle was a perfect match between the words on the page and the face on the screen, but like all perfect things, the devil's in the do-over. Turns out the biggest fan of McConaughey's philosophical diatribes was Pizzolatto himself, so much so that every one of the four main characters in Season 2 had what you might call "Rust Cohle" moments of enlightened eloquence. Nobody committed to that role of philosophizing-to-fight-fate, however, and the result was a bunch of moments the audience just didn't buy.
This point has already been made by many before me, but it bears repeating. The low note came in episode 3, during one of those recurring happy-hour hangouts at the Baleful Ballad Saloon. Frank's Word of the Day app had given him "stridency," while Ray's had offered "apoplectic." Get your tiles ready--it's a Scrabble-off! This was not Season Two's only diagnosed case of thesaurus fever, but it was the worst, and it illuminates the real disease which crippled the show from start to finish. Too often it was about what words were being said, and not how (if) they were being understood, or more importantly, felt.
This syndrome of superficiality carried over into the plot, which began with a case almost too transparent to attract notice, much less pique interest, but then became so convoluted so quickly, the audience had their work cut out for them just to keep the faces straight with the names, and forget about who-dun-it speculations. The story remained opaque until the finale, when it reverted to startling transparency again and left everyone feeling listless about the entire affair (*SPOILER ALERT* the initial murder didn't actually have anything to do with corporate douchery, but a jewelry heist-turned-double-murder during the Rodney King riots twenty years ago. Didn't see that one coming? Yeah, me neither. I mean, there was still plenty of corporate douchery going on, just as everyone had guessed all along, but that was it's own thing. Turns out bad people can sometimes do bad things totally independent of one another *END SPOILER ALERT*).
The finale was also full of truly entertaining action, suspense, and a whole range of feelz, but it did little to pierce the numbness which had settled in by that point. For our tragic heroes it was Glory and Death all around, except for Rachel McAdams's Ani Bezzerides, who, in exchange for her (honestly) raw and compelling performance, received the consolation prize of a new hair-do and a nine-month forget-me-not. I tell ya, if Ray had been that accurate with a gun, he would have made it out of those Redwoods just fine. Alas.
I'm making it sound as if this season was a total dud. It wasn't. There were frequent moments of genuine entertainment, enough that I could never truly give up on the show. Episode 2 was perhaps the season's most thorough misfire, but the final blank round hit the bulls-eye (SPOILERISH), and propelled me into episode 3 in classic True Detective "leave 'em wanting more" fashion. I'll also break with popular opinion here to say I thought Vince Vaughn did a bang-up job with the role he was given. Frank Semyon was never meant to be the bad guy people were expecting; he was a good guy who knew he was better at being bad, and V.V. worked that internal conflict like a pro.
I also enjoyed seeing RMcA play tuff, and Colin Farrell channel his inner despondent drunkard (AKA what I imagine he channels every weekend anyway). Even Taylor Kitsch wasn't terrible, though of the four he was undoubtedly the least compelling (I'd cry for him, but turns out he's still rich, famous, and disgustingly handsome, so I'll hold off on the tears). We won't see any "Vaughnaissances" or "Farrellaissances" emerge out of TRUE DETECTIVE Season Two, but these weren't phone-it-in performances either, and we should remember that when the inevitable "HBO orders Season Three" news breaks. This series, for whatever reason, brings A+ performances out of its A-list talent, and that alone has got me on board for at least one more season of this Nietzsche Noir we call TD.
I also believe that, though the well ran dry on Season 2, Pizzolato has still got enough of his bourbon-laced Mike's Secret Stuff left over from the enthralling Season 1 that Season 3 could be a return to form. This, provided he sees someone about that aforementioned thesaurus fever, and releases the strangle-hold he's got on the creative reins. A copy editor at least, Nic. Don't get apoplectic about it, just let someone tell you when you sound like a douche. Then, just maybe, you'll give us the series we all know you're capable of, instead of the one we most likely deserve.
TG
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