Directed by: Cary Joji Fukunaga
Distributed by: HBO
Written by Alexander Reams
100/100
“Rust would pick a fight with the sky if he didn’t like its shade of blue”
Martin Hart
Great television relies on efficiency. The ability to show the entirety of a character’s arc within a single scene, and maintain a level of intrigue for nearly 10 hours of screen time. In one of the best seasons of television not only in recent memory but of all time, Writer Nic Pizzolatto and Director Cary Joji Fukunaga (who at the time was best known for “Sin Nombre” and “Jane Eyre”) execute this with near pathological precision, each cut feels like it was examined down to the millisecond. The choice in shot sequencing is enough to educate the viewer on the current environment (and for a show that deals with three distinct time periods, that’s not only necessary, it’s the key to the story), and the performances from Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey feel so lived in that these characters seem to exist in real life.
And that’s the brutalistic reality of Fukunaga’s magnum opus, every decision that Harrelson’s Martin Hart and McConaughey’s Rustin Cohle directly or indirectly make brings about the destruction of their lives. The first introduction to the pair in the 1995 story is a masterclass of setting the tone. Every bump in the road that Hart and Cohle drive on is felt, from the guitar music that rings throughout the background, to the camera pan to the pair in the vehicle. It cements the atmosphere of Louisiana as a character before any crime is committed. It’s even down to the lenses used, classic Panavision PVintage lenses used during the 1990s timeline, which give it a purposefully cinematic quality to the time, and Primo lenses for the other timelines. The Primo lenses give a more modern look to the frame, instead of the distinctly dreamy look of the PVintage ones. The smooth, swift pace that was crafted by Editors Alex Hall, Affonso Gonçalves, and Meg Reticker is an achievement in editing, and the intercuts between stories allow for more information and story to be conveyed within each episode, which adds to the holistic trance that the series has.
The efficient introduction is fleshed out by the detectives who interviewed the pair in 2012. Detectives Maynard Gilbough (Michael Potts) and Thomas Papania (Tory Kittles) provide further insight into each detective, Hart’s interview is much more relaxed, and the detectives wait on him with bated breath. Whereas Cohle is someone they look down on, either with pity or disgust, and see him as another drunk redneck. Their motives are evident soon into each of the interviews. Cohle is the suspect, because of his loner tendencies, and vast knowledge of how to commit the crime. Along with a past that sounds almost too outlandish, McConaughey sells every syllable because of the mix of nihilism of the script, and the charisma of McConaughey. Pizzolatto uses these scenes to provide thoughtful and efficient exposition, and the performances between the four make the dialogue pop. These sequences are the keyhole into the three time periods, the initial investigation in 1995, the dissolution of Hart and Cohle’s association with each other in 2002, and the re-opening of the case and subsequent investigations and interviews with the pair in 2012, which ultimately leads to the resolution of the case and their personal lives.
The case that brings about Martin’s alcoholism, infidelity, and furthers Rust’s descent into madness (one can argue he’s already there), is the ritualistic murder of a prostitute in Louisiana. The imagery is appropriately disturbing, but it’s Hart and Cohle’s reactions to seeing this that show why the case is so obsessive. The way Cohle thinks about the scene is vastly different than Hart, the latter sees this as a plain act of evil, whereas Cohle sees beyond the evil, it’s the hunt that he looks for. Evident by his lack of care and interaction with society, his home that looks as if he’s squatted there, and his continual philosophical contemplations in the car with Marty. These interludes continue through the first half of the show, but it’s gone by the end of “Who Goes There,” episode four, which includes the iconic six-minute unbroken take that is just a treat to watch, and the technical expertise required to execute this active of a scene, with conflict outside and inside the stash house all in the background of Rust’s perspective, he’s focused on his mission and Cinematographer Adam Arkapaw masterfully framed the entire sequence. The genius of the scene is evident, but like most genius, it’s cold and is the end of any chance at light within the show.
The halfway point in the show marked a format that future seasons of “True Detective” would follow, usually thematic, but at times also stylistically. After this point, Hart and Cohle’s lives deteriorate even faster than any viewer could expect, and the tensions that Pizzolatto carefully laid pay off in an incredibly satisfying fight between the two. Even when it’s presumed that the case is closed, that doesn’t dilute any interest that the show has. The narrative feels unfinished, and by the final two episodes it becomes disgustingly evident that if you were expecting a happy ending, you haven’t been watching the show. The bleakness and cold demeanor of this show may turn off viewers. However, it’s the methodical writing by Pizzolatto that allows these characters to be proficient at their jobs, which has always been a trope that feels fresh, and entertaining. Despite their failings, Hart and Cohle are good detectives who get blood on their hands because of the case, but sometimes they could do more to avoid it. After all, Hart does execute a suspect (in custody) at point-blank after he found multiple abused children in the suspect’s home. In the aftermath, Cohle helps Marty clean it up and instead of being arrested for murder, they get promoted.
It’s a level of self-destruction that Cohle in particular is dead set on. From smoking and drinking in his interview with Gilbough and Papania to discredit his testimony, to the decision to head into a fight with the murderer that he is woefully unprepared for. It’s because the eventual killer is connected to powerful people, who allow reprehensible crimes and never expect to be held accountable, the embodiment of this is Glenn Fleshler as Errol Childress. Fleshler is in a relatively small role until those final two episodes, but his short screen time only amplifies the terrifying nature of his presence, even a scene of him painting a school is filled with tension. It’s stomach-churning as you know some of the truth. When Childress looks at the kids playing outside, he sees prey, as I rewatched these moments any sight of him chill-inducing.
A season of television like the first outing of “True Detective” can only be described as a defining moment in the limited series format business. The idea of big-name film stars appearing in a season of television had become a rarity (i.e. “Lonesome Dove”) but the popular critical and commercial reception allowed for the limited series format to explode with popularity and led to the high output of shows that attempt to recreate the lightning-in-a-bottle brilliance of the first season, and while some have come close, “Mare of Easttown” and “Show Me a Hero” to name a few, the memory of Marty Hart and Rust Cohle riding in the squad car will always stand as a memory to what television can and should be.
“True Detective” Season 1 Trailer
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