For better or worse (okay, much worse), True Detective season two actively fought against what made the first season of HBO’s crime drama such a profound hit. Gone were the post-mortem interrogations, the dueling timelines, and the cultish murder mystery; existential (and literal) crises of masculinity were all that remained to signify that this was a Nic Pizzolatto joint. But lacking a compelling framework or narrative, those elements no longer read as a throwback to or deconstruction of old archetypes – instead, they felt heavy-handed at best.
Perhaps it’s fitting, then, that the latest installment of True Detective opens with Mahershala Ali’s Detective Hays recalling the day when the case at the heart of this season began: “I remember it was the day Steve McQueen died,” he says. McQueen’s particular aspirational brand of masculinity didn’t die with him, of course, but the fact that this date is significant to Hays offers plenty of context for the world in which he lives – be it the one around him, or the one that exists in his head. Where the first season was divided between “past” and “present,” season three is actually split between three crucial periods in Hays’ life: 1980, when Hays and his partner, Roland West (Stephen Dorff), investigate the disappearance of Will and Julie Purcell in Northwest Arkansas; 1990, when Hays and West are brought in for additional questioning regarding the case, which has been reopened due to a remarkable development; and some 20 years later, when an elderly Hays is being interviewed about the case for a true crime series (the host of which is played by Sarah Gadon).
From the very first episode, “The Great War and Modern Memory,” it’s apparent that this season shares much in common with the first: The multiple time periods, the ruminations on time as an abstract and almost supernatural force, the cultish aspects to the central mystery, the interrogations of Hays and West a decade after the fact, and Hays’ reckoning with his own masculinity – his inability to effectively solve the case becomes a symbol of deep-seated impotence. These familiar elements might read as a cowardly capitulation to the viewership, but season three is impressive in its depth and complexity – it’s almost as if Pizzolatto saw HBO’s dare and raised them, and succeeded in delivering more than what was asked.
But he wasn’t alone; Pizzolatto had an entire army of talent for season three, including Jeremy Saulnier (who directed a couple of episodes and executive produced the series), the great David Milch (who is credited with helping write at least one episode), and a ferociously talented ensemble anchored by Mahershala Ali – playing a role originally written for a white man. Ali is breathtaking, giving us a trifecta of performances that grow increasingly complex with each passing decade. By the time Hays is in his seventies, his memory has been compromised; although it’s not made explicit, it appears that he’s suffering from Alzheimer’s, the effects of which are essentially erasing his life – including the memories of his wife, Amelia Reardon. Played by Carmen Ejogo, Amelia is an English teacher who writes a book about the Purcell case, but Hays feels threatened by her zealous interest. The elderly Hays is haunted – quite literally – by the specter of Amelia, who mercilessly taunts him about the slippery nature of time.