When True Detective premiered in January 2014, it was a simpler time. Obama was President, Trump had not yet infected the body politic, and we were still in the so-called Golden Age of television, filled with thought-provoking prestige dramas. True D would get added to that list quickly. Its story telling, across multiple timelines, with two charismatic lead actors (Woody Harrelson as Martin Hart and Matthew McConaughey as Rustin Cole), and a mysterious whodunit (What was Carcosa? Who was the Yellow King?) was the kind of cultural catnip that launched a thousand think pieces (and more than a few memes). Ultimately, the show collected a boat load of awards and spawned two sequels (neither of which reached the narrative level or became part of the cultural zeitgeist of the original) with a third on the way.
At the time, I was in my early-40s, recently divorced and doing some of the best work of my professional life. In other words, it still felt like I had the world by the balls and better days were ahead. As the season unfolded, I found the later episodes the least interesting, thought they dragged a little, and was "meh" about the ending. The eye candy of the early episodes - Rust's interrogation room monologues on the meaning of life, the famous eight-minute tracking scene, the representation of Bayou culture, and the lush cinematography - drew me in. What I missed, like Rust and Marty ignoring the landscaper on the riding mower who turned out to be the killer, was a show telling a much different story.
Yesterday, I stumbled across a True D Season One marathon on HBO, and my experience was completely different than it had been 10 years ago. Obviously, the biggest difference was knowing "whodunit" but more than that, those later episodes, in the "present" timeline of 2012, felt much more relatable as a lonely man in his mid-50s whose career is in a cul de sac he cannot escape. During Marty's interview with Detectives Gilbough and Papania, he recounts the detective's curse, "the solution was right under my nose, but I was focused on the wrong clues." Initially, he points it out as a reason why the case was not solved faster, but later on, he applies it to his personal life too. Marty realized - too late - that having a wife and family was what he should have focused on, but instead, he was too busy carousing, boozing, and having affairs.
It was a moment of introspection that I probably missed the first time around, but at this stage in my life, it resonated. Not because I wish I was still married, but more so about the emotion that dominates so much of my daily life: regret. Marty and Rust had everything going for them: they cracked a major case, each brought his own talents to their partnership, and they were both thriving. And yet, happiness eluded each of them. Their obsessive natures were their undoing. Rust refused to bend to authority (relatable) and Marty could only stay faithful for so long before he strayed (again). And so, Rust spends his days tending bar and getting drunk, completely isolated from anyone or anything. Marty eats frozen dinners after coming home from his dreary job as a private investigator. Neither man has any friends to speak of or healthy relationships.
Even the primary critique of the first season - its treatment of women - carried less resonance for me. Far from being a celebration of men, Marty and Rust stand as cautionary tales of "focusing on the wrong clues" in life. In comparison, the female characters exercise far greater agency and independence than it might have seemed on first viewing. Marty's wife Maggie (Michelle Monaghan) is a no-BS partner who eventually kicks Marty to the curb but not before exacting a deep level of revenge against him by sleeping with Rust, blowing up their partnership to boot. Maggie only learns of Marty's initial infidelity because Lisa, (Alexandra Daddario) the woman Marty was having an affair with, tells her about it. And Lisa only does this because Marty reveals himself to be a jealous, unstable, jerk and instead of tolerating him, she takes back possession of her own life by ceasing to allow Marty to control it. In other words, these women are not doormats who allow men to walk all over them. Ultimately, Maggie remarries, lives in a beautifully-appointed home, and maintains a good relationship with her two daughters, whereas Marty lives alone, eats dinner by himself in front of the TV, and has not talked to his kids in years.
And so, when watching the show yesterday, the things that I had found so addictive when it first aired seemed much less interesting. Rust's musings about time being a flat circle felt more like college dorm room claptrap and the narrative seams were more obvious. Instead, I watched it through the eyes of someone who knows what it is for life not to turn out the way they had hoped. To live with regrets of decisions I have made, the authority figures who I did not bend to, and the consequences of those decisions.
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