What the hell happened to True Detective?
Swéta Rana answers the question on everybody’s lips.
It’s not a new question — it’s been doing the rounds online for several weeks now. The A V Club, The Guardian, Mashable, even Business Insider are all coming together to ask what the fuck is going on.
When season one of True Detective premiered last year, it bewitched us. Whether we expressed our adoration through focused analysis or affectionate parody, the show captured our collective imagination in a way that nobody could have predicted. Innovative, gritty, meticulously shot and masterfully acted, it was regularly hailed as the best TV programme of 2014. I was so eager for the final episode to air, it brought back childhood memories of sleepless nights before the next Harry Potter book came out. “Guys, what do you think is gonna happen?!” “Do you think Marty did it all along?” “But what about the Yellow King?” “I can’t believe we still have to wait a whole FOUR DAYS!” We were all that hooked.
Naturally, I was very excited when the teaser trailer for season two came out last April. Haunting music, exquisite cinematography, some top-notch acting talent (Rachel McAdams, Taylor Kitsch), some less-than-stellar acting talent (but hey, perhaps Vince Vaughn is due is very own McConaissance?), and that True Detective trait that I can only describe as a palpable atmosphere of coolness. “Awesome,” I thought delightedly. “Season two of True Detective’s gonna rock!”
How I envy my April self. She was so naïve, so full of optimism. How could she possibly have known that season two of True Detective was gonna totally, totally suck? Because it does. It totally, totally sucks.
There is none of the allure of season one — no clear line of enquiry or compelling characters. For a show named True Detective there has been a disturbing lack of actual detecting. Mostly, the characters simply bask in their clichéd tropes. We’re more than halfway through the season, and so far every single installment of this season’s True Detective looks something like this:
RAY VELCORO (Colin Farrell)
I’m just so tormented. I’m so very full of torment. URGH! If only I weren’t so tormented.
ANTIGONE BEZZERIDES (Rachel McAdams)
I’m a strong, confident woman, who doesn’t need to smoke. But I choose to smoke, because I’m badass, and smoking is what badass people do.
PAUL WOODRUGH (Taylor Kitsch)
TOUGH GUY DENIAL.
FRANK SEMYON (Vince Vaughn)
All is uncertain. The universe is but a small sprig of thyme, falling through the interminable void. I saw a turtle once. It was crawling, ever crawling. Then I coldly crushed it in my fist, and only then did I truly know what I am. [further incomprehensible pseudo-philosophical bullshit, repeated ad infinitum]
Then, after this pattern repeats for what feels like several days, the episode’s over. And you’re no wiser about the plot than you were before the show had even started.
What the hell happened to True Detective? Where is the nuanced conflict of Woody Harrelson’s Marty Hart, or the subtle complexities of Matthew McConaughey’s Rust Cohle? The simple but classic presentation of a mystery, and its twists and turns as our heroes seek resolution?
True Detective, sadly, must be added to the list. I’m talking about the list of Clever Ambitious Popular Projects That Spawn Terrible Lazy Continuations (I like to shorten it to #CAPPTSTLC, which I feel has a good ring to it). It’s a depressingly common occurrence. The Wachowskis did it with their sequels to The Matrix. On TV, it happened with Forbrydelsen and with Broadchurch. When the public are enamoured with a piece of pop culture, it’s highly likely that the creators will shortly return to ruin it.
I’m not entirely sure what happened to True Detective, but I suspect it was something to do with cashing in on a big name with minimal time and effort. The integrity of the first season has vanished. A few weeks ago, Vince Vaughn’s character flatly mumbled the question, “Am I diminished?” Yes, True Detective. Yes you fucking well are.
Originally published at abstractmag.com on July 27, 2015.
