ONE: Written After Episode 6

Episode 6 of True Detective struck many addicts as the weakest yet—but the viewing figures were the best the show had had. 2.9 million people were there for the first playing of 6, appreciably more than watched the pilot. President Obama, it seems, had asked HBO for a set of the tapes. I would have thought he had worries enough, but then you realize that he might see Rust Cohle (Matthew McConaughey) as a role model—that faraway look, the dreamy voice, the soaring eloquent hopelessness, those brilliant cross-examinations, and the certainty that nothing could ever impinge on the insignificance of man-unkind.

But 6 did falter. Did Marty really deserve another nymph humping on top of him? More to the point, when Rust and Maggie finally got it together, didn’t we expect more than a rapid rear-entry fuck and then out the door? The attraction between the two of them was evident from episode 1, but who could be attracted to Rust for anything more than his talk? Everyone raved about the six-minute tracking shot in 4 (with justice), but we had a right to expect a six-minute wooing speech from that strung-out nihilist in love with language.

Now, this supposing is impertinent—we have to let Nic Pizzolatto and Cary Fukunaga (the writer and director) work it out their way. But we care. The furious speculation of its connoisseurs is a testament to what this show has accomplished. We’re like the readers of Dickens in America waiting for the ship to arrive with the next episode. Approaching 7, I thought of Se7en, the David Fincher film that must be in the mind of this show, and which tells you that, if you’re ready to stick around to the bitter end (and if Kevin Spacey can still talk), don’t complain if it’s so bitter your mouth falls out of your face. But the heart of this speculation lies not just in the show. It has to do with the opportunities and limitations of what we call long-form television.

As you know, True Detective is eight, hour-long episodes after which the show (if it is renewed) will shift to a different story arc, with fresh characters and actors. But if HBO has been wary of renewing do they wonder if anyone will tune in to series 2 without McConaughey and Harrelson to spin out time? Imagine Breaking Bad if, at the end of season 1 or 2, it shifted attention to a quite different set of characters who somehow justified “breaking bad” as a title. This is not the way networks or cable channels are used to thinking. Their essence is to find a sweet, tasty recipe and keep feeding it to us.

But the series of eight does offer the writer an unusual advantage: he could kill Rust or Matt, or anyone else he can think of. That ultimate dramatic coup is available, as it is not once a big series gets under way. At a certain point, we knew Walter White might be at death’s door, but he was going to have to linger. That is not quite consistent with the nature of dramatic narrative and the gravitational pull of closure. You’ll find a similar problem in Homeland: In series 1, Carrie Mathison plunged toward her breakdown, and the finale was heart-rending. But you can’t have Carrie back on duty for 2 and 3 and likely to end up a shuddering wreck again. There’s only so much the CIA can take, and there is a strain between narrative and commerce that hobbles long form.