Finally, the truth can be told (many spoilers below!): the real villain of “True Detective” is… HBOGo.com, which crashed epically as the much anticipated finale of the eight-episode miniseries was set to begin.
Irate web viewers aside, the last installation of the brilliant detective noir did not disappoint, delivering a baddie of mythical proportions and a satisfyingly philosophical coda for former partners Rustin Cohle (Matthew McConaughey) and Marty Hart (Woody Harrelson).
It even offered a rather inarguable explanation for its failure to address the entirety of the conspiracy theories floated along the way (the Tuttle ministry and family! Maggie’s father! What happened to Audrey?): “We ain’t gonna get ‘em all. That ain’t what kind of world it is.”
Nick Pizzolato’s wildly popular show started out with a bang Sunday, tossing us into the hazy overgrowth surrounding the homestead of the suspected “spaghetti monster” and Yellow King, face-scarred lawnmower man Errol Childress (Glen Fleshler).
No more suspicions here! This guy is definitely, incontrovertibly evil incarnate. Shown shirtless and leering over a possibly-dead figure lashed to a bed in a shack, his first words are, “Them flies are gettin’ thick… somebody oughta give you a good hosin’.”
We follow Childress into the main house (a hoarder’s palace of nightmarish imagery, complete with dusty dolls with bashed-in faces) and watch him cycle through several different accents, studying “North by Northwest” on TV, playing British – “Would that they had eyes to see!”- then Scottish. (Is he, per the show’s meta antics, embodying every possible villain we, the viewers, want him to be?) He’s also doing naughty things to a dour-faced and dim woman who appears to be, unsurprisingly, a relation: “Couldn’t you tell me about Grandpa?” he slurs, moving back into thick Southern Redneck.
Another possible wink at the camera: Childress’ assertion to his maybe-sister that “I’m near the final stage.” Indeed.
And with that, the show began its rapid descent into denouement, giving us brief moments of triumph before the big showdown: The owner of Rust’s bar turns out to be a crack sniper who awesomely threatens good ol’ boy Sheriff Geraci! It’s Marty – poor, downtrodden Marty, always painted as the less agile of the two minds – who finally cracks the case, figuring out that Childress’ “green ears” were a result of his housepainting! (A stunned Cohle mutters, “F—k you, man,” which strangely sounds like high praise.)
Hart even ascertains that detectives Papania and Gilbough a) think he and Cohle are both probably bonkers but b) will definitely be happy to take the call, and share in the credit, if they turn out not to be.
And with that, our men head out to the Childress place, which is where we all want them to be. In a drawn-out sequence that seems lifted from the pages of some very severe fairy tale, Cohle and then Hart chase their prey through a warren of stone walls, twisted branches, piles of children’s clothing and skeleton fragments, Childress’ voice booming ominously through the caverns. “Take off your mask!” he shouts as he lunges at Cohle, another reference to “The King in Yellow.”
The violent final confrontation didn’t – as many theorized it would – claim the life of either Hart or Cohle, ending the show on a near-optimistic note almost nobody could have seen coming.
Though a Jesus-like Cohle, laid up in the hospital, is gutted (near-literally) that he didn’t catch them all, he admits tearfully to Hart to having had a glimpse at something beyond death – and that it was about love. And with an exchange about the struggle between dark and light, the two – can we now call them friends? – head into the credits. Still, one line ought to give fans a lifeline to cling to regarding a possible Cohle reappearance in future seasons: “It occurs to me,” Hart says to him, “that you’re unkillable.”