"When the last light warms the rocks, the rattlesnake unfold
The Mountain Cats will come to drag away your bones."
Shea Whitgham from Boardwalk Empire and Agent Carter shows up as Preacher Theriot. I just mention it because he's one of my favorite character actors working today. His role as Eli on Boardwalk Empire just broke my heart. For now I will put him on my list of suspects.
That was until I saw the guy in his underwear wearing the gasmask and carrying a machete. Yup, he did it. That is never a good thing. Just when I promise myself I will only watch one episode day I find every reason to binge watch this to the end and be done with all the troubles. But I can't do that. I have to soak this in.
This episode gives us less of the case and more about the two men investigating it. As usual they are found wanting. One can't connect with people and one can't connect with the people already in his life. It's sad and infuriating all at the same time. I just want to give Woody a slap, then give Mathew a shake. That must mean I care about what is happening to them. But I don't have to like them.
The writing can be a smidge self indulgent but that is to be expected when everything comes from the mind of ONE guy, not a committee. An author can easily fall too much in love with their words but luckily True Detective has avoided that pitfall so far.
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4 comments:
I am glad you are taking your time with this. You will be rewarded.
Interesting that you're finding the detectives increasingly difficult to connect with.
Not that I disagree, but I would just diffidently remind you of the narrative traditions wherein it's the characters who go through the darkest patches of negativity and repellant choices and frustration that can emerge into the brightest light, in the most heroic and moving way.
The final monologue of Episode 3 is one of the best pieces of writing I've ever encountered.
"This. This is what I’m talking about. This is what I mean when I’m talking about time and death and futility. There are broader ideas at work—mainly, what is owed between us as a society for our mutual illusions. Fourteen straight hours of staring at DBs [dead bodies], these are the things you think of. You ever done that? You look in their eyes, even in a picture. Doesn’t matter if they’re dead or alive—you can still read them, and you know what you see? They welcomed it. Not at first, but right there in the last instant: it’s an unmistakable relief, see, because they were afraid and now they saw for the very first time how easy it was to just let go. And they saw, in that last nanosecond, they saw what they were: that you, yourself, this whole big drama, it was never anything but a jerry-rig of presumption and dumb will, and you could just let go, finally, now that you didn’t have to hold on so tight, to realize that all your life, all your love, all your hate, all your memory, all your pain, it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room, a dream about being a person."
[smokes, puts photograph down; looks at interviewers]
"And, like a lot of dreams, there’s a monster at the end of it."
That was good Jordan. Perfect example of what I liked about True Detective. M.M.'s great monologs.
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