Time is a Flat Circle: Examining True Detective Season One Read online

  Time is a Flat Circle:

  Examining True Detective, Season One

  Melissa Milazzo

  with Adam and Mark Stewart

  Sequart Organization (Edwardsville, Illinois)

  Copyright © 2019 by the respective authors. Characters and works mentioned herein are trademarked by various owners.

  Kindle edition, Jan 2019.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts used for review or scholarly purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including electronic, without express consent of the publisher.

  Cover by Kevin Colden. Book design by Julian Darius. Interior art is © HBO.

  Published by Sequart Organization. Edited by Mike Phillips. Assistant edited by Tim Bavlnka, Parker Bray, Keith Howell, and Karra Shimabukuro.

  For information about other titles in this series, visit sequart.org/books.

  Dedication

  For Tone Milazzo, the Michael Jordan of being a husband.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Essays: That’s the Genre, Not the Title

  There’s a Monster at the End: The Labyrinth in True Detective

  You’re Creating a Maze for Yourself: The Noir Labyrinth of Identity

  Did She Jump or Was She Pushed?: The Making of a Femme Fatale

  It’s a Family Thing: Southern Gothic in True Detective

  The Stories We Tell Ourselves: The Role of Religion in Shaping Reality

  A Giant Gutter in Outer Space: Cosmic Insignificance in True Detective and “The Dunwich Horror”

  All the King’s Children are Marked: Signs of the King in Yellow in True Detective

  Compensating for a Tragic Misstep in Evolution: Zapffe’s Strategies for Minimizing Consciousness

  Appendices: Fulfillment and Closure, Empty Jars to Store this Abstract Shitstorm

  The Guide to True Detective and Weird Comic Book Fiction

  by Adam Stewart and Mark Stewart

  This Kind of Thing Does Not Happen in a Vacuum: The True Crime Inspiration for True Detective

  Just the Facts, Ma'am: Controversy Regarding the Influence of Thomas Ligotti’s Work in True Detective

  In the Groove: The Music of True Detective

  Not Everyone Wants to Sit Alone in an Empty Room Beating Off to Murder Manuals: Recommended Reading

  Thanks for the Beer: Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Introduction

  The first season of True Detective is the same old story. It’s a buddy cop show with a pair of mismatched detectives who play by their own rules. It’s hard-boiled sleuths in dive bars and shootouts, trading dialogue sharper than a knife to the back. It’s a black-as-night noir with corruption and existential dread lurking around every corner. It’s a Southern gothic draped in rotting vines and unspeakable family secrets. It’s cosmic horror where the thin veil of reality is slipping and visions of an uncaring universe drive men to madness. True Detective is an amalgamation of pulp genres that have been done to death, and yet, there is a strangeness lurking in all the familiarity.

  True Detective[1] premiered on HBO on January 12, 2014 and it was an immediate hit, becoming the most watched freshman show in the network’s history at that time.[2] Nic Pizzolatto’s writing, along with director Cary Joji Fukunaga’s vision, T Bone Burnett’s musical contributions, and the brilliant performances by leads Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson proved a winning combination. As each new episode aired, it spawned hundreds of articles, blogs, and podcasts, each vying to untangle the show’s non-linear narrative and dense web of literary and philosophical allusions. The lush, haunting visuals of the show inspired a blossom of fan art, while the eminently quotable dialogue was transformed into memes and parody.

  Some critics hailed the show as revolutionary, dubbing the single writer/ single director format as auteur storytelling brought to the small screen. From its conception, the story was intended to run for a single season and have a concrete beginning and end. Additionally, Pizzolatto and Fukunaga retained tight control over creative decisions, achieving a clarity of vision not often possible when each episode of a show is the result of a different writer and director. As critic Andrew Romano notes, “not every story is best told by committee or as an open-ended epic.”[3] Part of the appeal of True Detective is that each scene is branded with the show’s distinctive look, feel, and sound, achieving a singular mood to match the journey of its memorable characters.

  Although critical response to the first season was largely positive, there were notable dissenting opinions. The New Yorker’s Emily Nussbaum found the show to be pretentious pulp, citing the flat female characters and “disposable female bodies.”[4] The show generated think pieces debating whether the show was misogynist or if it merely portrayed misogyny.[5] Meanwhile, in a completely different corner of the internet, fans within the weird fiction community took issue with the praise Nic Pizzolatto received for the originality of his script, noting that Pizzolatto used the work of Robert W. Chambers (The King in Yellow) as the basis for the show’s occult lore. They also took issue with the extent to which Rust Cohle’s haunting dialogue was influenced by the philosophical writings of Thomas Ligotti (The Conspiracy Against Mankind).[6]

  What was lost in all the controversy, hype, and fan theories about True Detective was a more in-depth look at what the show achieves as a genre work. At its core, True Detective is a cross-genre narrative, blending elements of hardboiled detective, noir, Southern gothic, and cosmic horror. Cross-genre work is not new, nor is it new to television,[7] but in the first season of True Detective Nic Pizzolatto’s cross-genre storytelling reinvigorates a familiar story about cops chasing a killer, turning it into an opportunity to examine the nature of self, society, faith, and even reality.

  This volume examines the first season of True Detective through the lens of genre to identify how Pizzolatto and Fukunaga’s use of multiple genres defines and amplifies a set of themes within the narrative. The focus here is less on the distinctions between genres and more on the places where they overlap. These points of intersection form the thematic pillars of True Detective: corruption of the self, corruption of society, the malleable nature of reality, and the meaning (or lack thereof) of life.

  In the following essays, I apply close textual analysis to all eight episodes of the first season. This approach includes literary aspects of the show such as plot, dialogue, character, and symbolism, as well as directorial elements like editing and cinematography. In the spirit of staying close to the text, I use lines of dialogue as pull quotes throughout the essays. That, and because the dialogue is just too fun to be used without a little humor.

  Each of the following chapters focus on single genre and how elements of the genre forward the key themes of True Detective. Both the first and the last chapters take a more foundational approach, looking at elements that inform the genres at work in True Detective. The first chapter looks to the roots of genre, building on the idea of the Cretan labyrinth myth as the precursor of detective fiction and interpreting True Detective as a retelling of that ancient tale about a man, a monster, and a labyrinth. The final chapter focuses on the anti-natalist philosophy that defines much of Cohle’s character, as well as the moral underpinnings of the comic horror genre.

  The appendices in this volume provide a home for materials that highlight the wide array of media that influenced True Detective. Primary among these is a contribution by Adam Stewart and Mark Stewart. Their “Guide to True Detective and Weird Comic Book
Fiction,” explores the many comic book tributaries that flow into True Detective. Adam and Mark’s work is a great introduction to how comic books can inspire television and film outside the superhero genre.

  Music plays an integral part in setting the mood of True Detective, so any discussion of the show would feel incomplete without it. “In the Groove” focuses on the musical direction provided by the legendary T Bone Burnett. This appendix details every song appearing in show, along with notes about the song’s history and significance to the scene in which it appeared. “This Kind of Thing Doesn’t Happen in a Vacuum” covers the Louisiana true crime case that inspired the allegations against the Tuttle ministries in True Detective. “Just the Facts, Ma’am” chronicles the controversy sparked by weird fiction fans, a blog, and accusations of plagiarism. The final appendix is a recommended reading and viewing list. Compiled with the help of Miguel Rodriguez, founder of the Horrible Imaginings film festival and podcast,[8] this list should help fans of True Detective find new stories to scratch that same itch.

  Now that the vision has been articulated, it’s time to cue the music, pour a drink, and mainline the secret truths of the True Detective universe.

  ESSAYS:

  That’s the Genre, Not the Title

  There’s a Monster at the End: The Labyrinth in True Detective

  In the first episode of True Detective, Marty Hart lists the types of detective he’s seen over the course of his career. “The bully, the charmer… the brain. Any of those types could be a good detective and any of those types could be an incompetent shitheel.”[9] As Hart notes, a detective isn’t defined by his personality; he is defined by his work as an investigator. Although many types of detective appear in the various genres of detective fiction, their investigations tend to follow a pattern. Should the story feature a classical detective like Sherlock Holmes or a hard-boiled shamus like Sam Spade, the initial investigation quickly expands into a much larger mystery, a case that leads the detective through a winding maze of possibilities and dead-ends. This shared pattern exists because all varieties of the detective genre, including True Detective, have a shared ancestor in the myth of the labyrinth.

  The myth begins with King Minos of Crete ordering the architect Daedalus to build a labyrinth to contain the Minotaur, a monster born with the head of a bull and the body of a man. After imprisoning the Minotaur, King Minos fed the monster with human sacrifices kidnapped from nearby Athens. Theseus, prince of Athens, was understandably upset by this turn of events and set out for Crete to find the labyrinth and slay the Minotaur. Along the way, he met and fell in love with Ariadne, who aided Theseus by giving him a sword and a clue (ball or skein) of thread. This foresight was the key to Theseus’s success, for the thread was all he had to lead him safely out of the labyrinth after he killed the Minotaur. The myth ends with a triumphant Theseus escaping Crete with Ariadne at his side.

  At first glance, the myth of the labyrinth reads as more of a heroic tale than a mystery, but “while they aren’t always obvious, the influences of the myth of the maze are certainly evident”[10] in the detective genre. When imagined through the lens of the detective genre, the Minotaur becomes the criminal, trapped in the harsh concrete labyrinth of streets and skyscrapers. The ball of thread becomes a trail of clues to be followed by the detective, who serves as the modern-day Theseus.

  This sort of thing doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

  — Rust Cohle

  The significance of the labyrinth in hard-boiled detective fiction and film noir is a well-established theme for many academics. Starting with Foster Hirsch’s analysis in The Dark Side of the Screen, a succession of writers have established that the labyrinth in hard-boiled noir is more than the dangerous city streets the detective prowls each night. It is also the mapping of corrupt cops, crooked politicians, and how power really flows through the city. At its deepest level, the labyrinth is a cypher for the inner workings of the detective, a psychological space where he must confront uncomfortable truths about himself and about the human condition. The interior of the labyrinth is where hard-boiled noir detectives like Marty Hart and Rust Cohle must navigate their way through what is known and what is yet to be discovered, what is truth and what is illusion, what is right and what is wrong.

  In Semiotics and the Philosophy of Language, Umberto Eco identifies three types of labyrinth (or maze): the classical, the mannerist, and the rhizomatic.[11] The “classical Greek maze” is the version with Theseus, the Minotaur, Ariadne, and her string. According to Eco, it is possible to escape a “classical” maze. Escaping the classical maze is not easy (hence the need for Ariadne’s string), but it is also not the greatest hurdle to a hero’s success. In this version of the maze, the greatest threat comes from the Minotaur. Eco defines the “mannerist maze” as the next development of the form. It focuses on distorted perception. Much like an M.C. Escher lithograph, the pathways in the “mannerist maze” follow impossible geometries and defy logical explanation. These physical distortions are symbolic of rapid changes to society. Eco explains that in the “mannerist maze” there is no need for a Minotaur, as “social fragmentation, moral skepticism, cultural pluralism” pose greater threats to the hero than any monster.

  The final version Eco identifies is the “rhizomatic maze.” A rhizome is a term used both in philosophy and botany, though the botanical model offers a better visual for the concept. Rhizomes are the horizontal stems of some plants which send out roots and shoots in all directions. Ferns, grasses, hops, and seaweed are all rhizomatic plants whereas a tree, which grows vertically, is non-rhizomatic. When philosophers imagined a rhizome shaped labyrinth they found that it, “has no center; it has no perimeter; and, worst of all, it has no way out.”[12] Thus, the rhizomatic maze is a labyrinth of endless paths and endless clues but no escape. Like the mannerist maze, there is no Minotaur in the rhizomatic maze. The threat comes from the disordered and inescapable shape of the labyrinth. When escape is impossible, the maze becomes the monster.

  Building on Eco’s work, critic Jerold J. Abrams posits that the labyrinth as it appears in film noir is the rhizomatic type. He provides analysis of several noir classics, noting that the mazes which appear in these films are often self-perpetuating and inescapable. A notable example comes from The Third Man (Carol Reed, 1949). The climactic scenes of this film take place in a labyrinthine underground sewer, a setting symbolic of both the criminal underworld and the impossible maze of clues and questions trapping a detective. At the end of the film, one of the main characters nearly escapes the labyrinth of the sewer and the criminals chasing him, but dies just as his hand breaches the sewer grate. For Abrams, this scene summarizes the plight of a detective trapped in a rhizomatic maze. Not only did the character fail to escape the physical labyrinth of the sewer; he also remained trapped within the wider, rhizomatic labyrinth of the criminal underworld. “There was no escape either way.”[13]

  True Detective, like every other genre story before it, does not take place in a vacuum. Therefore, analyzing the type of labyrinth present in True Detective can provide an Ariadne’s string of clues to help the viewer interpret the story and its ending. True Detective exhibits elements of the classical labyrinth and the classical detective story. At the same time, there are strong hard-boiled and film noir elements, hinting that the labyrinth in the narrative should be an inescapable, rhizomatic type. There is an inherent tension between these two types of labyrinth – one that can be escaped and one that cannot – that propels the narrative of True Detective, and that sparked much of the debate around whether the first season’s finale was a satisfactory ending to the story or an inappropriately happy ending.

  You, these people, this place. It’s like you eat your fucking young…

  — Rust Cohle

  An argument for a classical labyrinth in True Detective can be founded on the parallels between characters in True Detective and the myth of the Cretan labyrinth, particularly the roles of Theseus, Ariadne, and the Minotaur.


  The detective in the Cretan myth is Theseus, the Athenian who travels to a strange land to stop the youth of his city from being abducted and ritually sacrificed. Rust Cohle clearly fills this role in True Detective. As a Texan, Cohle is an outsider to Vermilion Parish, Louisiana where the narrative is set. Cohle struggles in his new environment, unable to understand Marty Hart’s acceptance of a status quo where religious and political authority is consolidated in the Tuttle family. Although Cohle does not come to Vermilion Parish with the express goal of stopping the Yellow King cult sacrifices, he does come to Louisiana with a sense of purpose. Detectives Gilbough and Papina ask Cohle why he didn’t just retire and collect disability after being injured while working undercover. Cohle replies, “the body is not one member, but many. Now are they many, but of one body.”[14] Cohle’s answer points to his desire to rejoin society and contribute to the welfare of his community. Having specific goals make Theseus and Cohle proactive characters, seeking out new information, chasing leads, and initiating contact with possible witnesses. Cohle fits the mold of the classical detective, as he, like Theseus, is intent on solving a mystery and ready to run headlong into the labyrinth in pursuit of a monster.

  Although Theseus is remembered as the hero of the Cretan myth, his success is not possible without his partner Ariadne. The daughter of King Minos, Ariadne is part of the existing power structure in Crete. She uses her position to provide Theseus with information about the labyrinth – namely that escaping it will be one of the most challenging parts of the ordeal. In True Detective, Marty Hart fills the Ariadne role. As a veteran of the police force and a Louisiana native, Hart understands the complex tangle of politics, family ties, and departmental corruption and uses this knowledge to help Cohle navigate his way through the Yellow King cult investigation. In the 2012 phase of the investigation, Hart’s connections prove particularly useful, as his private investigator credentials give Hart and Cohle access to the tax records that allow them to make the connection between a little girl’s report of a “spaghetti monster with green ears”[15] and Errol Childress’s current location.