It takes a big reviewer to admit when he’s wrong, and wrong I was about HBO’s Winter sensation “True Detective.” My review of the pilot was only lukewarm (the exact grade was a B-) because I felt the series was taking itself a little too seriously and the dialogue felt obtusely poetic to the point of being completely unlike any human conversation I’ve ever heard.
It was a weird juxtaposition of Wire-style police realism and gothic existentialism, but you know what? That’s what works for this show. So many series feel like they could be made by just about anyone, starring anyone, and True Detective is anything but generic. The show puts forth a singularly odd vision of the nearly two-decades long search for a Louisiana serial killer, complete with a killer that takes on mythical qualities (just try not to feel a sense of the otherworldly as our heroes chase him through a series of swamp-marsh decorated aqueducts) and a nihilistic “hero” who’s just as comfortable talking bleak philosophy as forensics.
All of the divergent elements (Harrelson’s spiraling “family man,” a time jumping narrative, realistic police work filtered through folk lore, psychopaths dropping arcane literature references, etc.) may leave you with a lot of different impressions at one time, but if it doesn’t drive you away–this show really is love it or hate it–you’ll be mesmerized. Between the spellbinding storytelling (like the excellent tracking shot through a projects shootout mid-season and the edge-of-your-seat chase through the killer’s sprawling woods-lair in last night’s finale) and an arguably career-best performance from Matthew McConaughy (more anti-social than we’ve ever seen this good ole boy, and it adds an exciting charge to his every scene), this is one season I’m sorry to see come to a close. Grade for Season: A…Grade for Finale: A