by Brendan Foley
HBO dramas of the Sunday night persuasion have developed a bit of notoriety for a recurring trait: the big explosions of incident come in the penultimate episode of the season, with the finale proper being more of a wrap-up/set-up sort of event. From The Sopranos to The Wire to Game of Thrones, the shows tend to pack a big wallop right before the finish line. As a limited series, True Detective’s second-to-last episode comes even heavier. Regardless of how any of this shakes out, we are never seeing these characters ever again after next week, so the escalation of tension and the eventual bloodshed is all the more momentous.
And, people, it was pretty goddamn momentous in the first place.
In any good noir story, there’s the moment, the best moment, when all the cards are laid down and all the pieces fall into place. When you are reading a novel or watching a movie, it is not uncommon to spend the first two-thirds completely lost, wading from scene to scene and character to character attempting to find purchase.
And then…bam. Suddenly the narrative snaps into absolute clarity and the shit gets real and then it just keeps on getting realer.
As many people have recognized by this point, Nic Pizzolatto has been playing the long game with this season. Last year opened with a blaze of glory and then limped to the finish line. This season had a weak opening (and continued to struggle, with Frank Semyon’s gangster day-to-day a particular drain on the runtime) but has been accumulating a terrible power as it has rolled along, a snowball building to an avalanche. And this week, the avalanche reached the village and blew it down to a stack of twigs.
True Detective’s penultimate episode is pitched as a dead-end sprint from first minute to last, torching the lives of our heroes and antiheroes (in some cases with literal, actual fire) and bringing new light to the myriad plot threads from the entire season.
Over the course of the hour, our true detectives learn that they are now the most wanted people in all of California, with no one they can bring any of the revelatory documents from the big giant orgy. Their only ally (Brianna Barksdale!) is murdered with one of Velcoro’s guns, and Ani and Paul work to get their loved ones the fuck out of dodge before the conspiracy can close down around them.
For Frank, the noose has been tied taut around his neck for months now, he just didn’t know it. He learns from Velcoro that the Russian mobsters, Vinci officials, many of Frank’s own men, and Caspere were all conspiring to rip off his millions and snake the land deal out from under him. Frank goes on a warpath, beating the snot out of Blake, his sniveling number two (in a tremendous scene for Vince Vaughn. Seven hours in, he seems to be finding his footing with Pizzolatto’s dialogue, or Pizzolatto figured out how to write for Vaughn), and discovers that the Russians have bought off all his businesses and are planning a final tradeoff for $12 million. Frank kills sniveling guy, sends Jordan to pack a bag, prepares a perfect getaway and then proceeds to torch everything he owns. Goodbye casino, goodbye club. Frank also goes ahead and gets an entire fucking arsenal ready, so do not expect the finale to go quietly.
(Sidenote: Heading into the finale, there’s basically no way that Jordan hasn’t been culpable for everything that’s gone wrong with Frank’s life recently, yeah? If she doesn’t get to go Lady Macbeth, then I’m afraid that entire character has been a complete wash. It isn’t as galling as the utter waste of Michelle Monaghan from last season [if only because Monaghan is a true-blue star who deserves great things, while Kelly Reilly has floundered all season], but something has to come of all the nonsense between Frank and his wife.)
The true detectives realize that the brass of the Vinci PD were responsible for the diamond heist/double homicide from the L.A. riots, and that much of the initial investigation was actually a cover-screen for the Vinci PD to try and obtain the (re)stolen diamonds that Caspere had been in possession of, hoping to obfuscate their involvement in the whole brutal-murder-thing. Double-holy-crap, it turns out that Caspere’s assistant (and also aide to the mayor) was one of the two kids who witnessed their parents being gunned down for the diamonds, which means she may just have the ability to blow this case wide open. She has disappeared. Loose end!
Detective Brother From There’s Something About Mary was in on it the whole time, which explains why he was snooping on Paul.
Speaking of…sigh. If you’ve been reading these things, you’ll know that the cast member I was most excited for was Taylor Kitsch. I fucking love Timmy Riggins, and I was hoping True Detective would be the perfect showcase for him. It absolutely has been, and Kitsch gradually became the season’s MVP, bringing a bruised vulnerability beneath his badass smolder. Of all the tragic figures on a show cast of nothing but, Paul has always seemed the most tragic of all, if only because his torment was entirely of his own making. Somehow, he got it into his head that being a ‘good man’ meant denying who he actually was, and that set him on a course to the bloody end (if you didn’t catch that, someone flat out explains it to Paul right before they bring him to his death).
So Paul goes to meet his blackmailer, only calling Ray to let him know that he’s walking into danger when he’s right at the point of no return. Turns out, Paul’s military buddy and all the other mercenaries are now working as private security for the crooked land development company, and the Vinci chief is the big boss. They want Paul to hand over the files, and he responds by putting bullets in all their faces. Just, just all of the faces, you guys.
But it’s not enough. Even after miraculously battling his way out of the underground tunnel, there’s a goon waiting outside to gun Paul down in the back as he tries desperately to reach the light. Paul dies crawling for his gun, angrily ranting “No, no, no, no,” before the next shot puts him down for good. And there’s a nice long look at the splatter to let you know that there will be no Conway Twitty lullabyes to rouse Paul from this. He’s dead, man.
Meanwhile, Ani and Ray fuck. Good for them, question mark?
There’s a special intensity that comes from these ‘limited event’ series. Because there’s no status quo to protect, because there’s no future season that needs reserves of story to be pulled up, it allows smart writes and directors to put the pedal to the metal with their stories. So Pizzolatto is free to spend his penultimate episode taking a fucking sledgehammer to the world he has so carefully established, gleefully blowing up plot points and actual physical locations as he sees fit.
With only one episode left in the story, there seems to be no win in the offing for our true detectives. Ray and Ani see their only hope as getting out of the country entirely, while Frank seems hellbent on raining the wrath of God down on them that robbed him. Considering its awkward opening, this season is speeding to a climax with intensity and purpose, and I cannot wait to see how it all shakes out.