Look, let’s get the obvious out of the way: True Detective‘s first season is an almost impossible act to follow. It was buoyed by fantastic performances from Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson (both of whom have stayed on as executive producers). It heralded the arrival of two exciting new voices, director Cary Joji Fukunaga and writer Nic Pizzolatto. In the wake of True Detective‘s debut, the rumor mill for season two went crazy. Names like Jessica Chastain, Elisabeth Moss, and Brad Pitt were bandied about. The plot was kept top secret. Anticipation was at a fever pitch, so was there any chance that season two wouldn’t disappoint? George Lucas might have said it best, after the release of the disastrous Phantom Menace: “No movie will ever be as as good as the ones [the fans] make in their minds.” So should I fawn over True Detective, or should I rein myself in? The answer is neither. At the end of the day, Pizzolatto is an artist, and as such he is prone to missteps. “The Western Book of the Dead” is a somewhat inauspicious debut, unrelentingly grim and still trying to step out of its predecessor’s shadow.
When I say grim, I mean it. There is not a single smile to be seen in “Book of the Dead,” and most of the characters remain ciphers, even after spending 62 minutes with them. Not to beat a dead horse, but after season one’s premiere, “The Long Bright Dark,” we felt like we knew Rust Cohle and Marty Hart – and if we didn’t, we were certainly on our way. “Book of the Dead” offers no such glimpses into its characters’ psyches.
There’s Ray Velcoro (Colin Farrell), the most interesting character by far, a detective in the fictional city of Vinci, CA; Ani Bezzerides (Rachel McAdams), an LA Sheriff with family issues; Paul Woodrugh (Taylor Kitsch), a Viagra-popping CHP trooper with burns across his chest; and Frank Semyon (Vince Vaughn), a criminal trying to go straight by way of a big land deal in central California. (Side note: the problem with using land deals as a plot device is that it leads to some really boring conversations. True Detective is no exception.) Do you see how little space I used describing these characters? That’s about as much as we get from them from “Book of the Dead.”
…with the possible exception of Ray Velcoro. It’s no secret that Colin Farrell can play intense, so an antihero cop should be right in his wheelhouse. But that’s the biggest surprise about Ray – he’s not just an antihero, he might be a straight-up villain. At Frank’s behest, he dons a ski mask and gloves to beat the hell out of a newspaper writer working on an expose about Vinci (it’s a truly creepy image; director Justin Lin, a Fast and Furious vet, acquits himself nicely here, and wisely eases up on the throttle, so to speak, although he lacks Fukunaga’s command of atmosphere). Later, he calls his bullied son a “fat pussy,” then goes to the bully’s house to teach him a lesson, which he does by beating his dad to a pulp right in front of him, with the assistance of brass knuckles (he tells the kid: “If I ever hear about you bullying or hurting anyone again, I will butt-fuck your father next to your mother’s headless corpse on this front lawn”). Farrell commits to the darkness, which is more than can be said for many of his costars.
Kitsch and McAdams don’t register all that much. I don’t blame the actors as much as I do the underdevelopment of their characters; one wonders if Pizzolatto didn’t bite off more than he could chew by trying to transition from two main characters to four. Vaughn, while not a breakout performer, is nonetheless the most intriguing character, solely because of his history in comedy. You find yourself wondering how his rapid-fire used-car salesman schtick can be toned down and applied to drama as dark as this.
Because that’s what True Detective is, at its core: drama, not procedural, although I will allow that season two, so far, is making room for some dark, dry humor (after Ray takes a shot of Johnnie Walker Blue, Frank says “You’re supposed to savor that”; Ray pours another shot and says “Let me try again”). The best parts of season one were Rust and Marty’s meandering conversations about life and the universe (okay, and Rust’s breathless sprint through a stash house, shot in an unbroken six-minute take). “The Western Book of the Dead” doesn’t give us any indication of that. The three cops don’t meet until the last scene, and the body of city manager Ben Caspere isn’t discovered until just minutes before that. Essentially, “Book of the Dead” is an hour-long prologue before the actual story begins. Here’s hoping that that story is more engaging than its introduction.
A Few Thoughts
- In place of my usual uncategorized observations, I’ve decided to just quote the most True Detective-y lines. Here they are:
“I welcome judgement.”
“Behold, what was once a man.”
“Never do anything out of hunger. Not even eating.”
“Depends on what’s expected.”
“I am an American.”
“We were working for America, sir.”
“I guess that’s okay.” “Sure it is. We’re the police.”
“God did not create a meaningless world.”
“Talk to your daughter, prick. Help her.”
“I used to want to be an astronaut. But astronauts don’t even go to the moon anymore.”
“You’re twelve years old and you’re already evil as fuck.”
“This is my least favorite life.”
“A good woman mitigates our baser tendencies.”
And my favorite: “Twelve years old my ass. Fuck. You.”
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