The capacity for evil exists within us all, and the word on the street – or at least, a recent sponsored survey – is that pretending you're up-to-date with the most critically hymned TV shows to appear more worldly is no big deal. A word of advice: it's not worth attempting to bluff your way through a conversation about Banshee. Even if you did your due diligence on Sky Atlantic's addictive, sex-saturated thriller – which begins its second season on Monday – it wouldn't take long for your interrogator to smell a rat.

That's because season one of Banshee wasn't so much a show as a shared trauma. If someone asks what you thought of episode three – when a cruel MMA fighter blows into town horny and looking for trouble – they're not looking for a plot recap, they're gauging your involuntary emotional reaction, like Blade Runner's Voight-Kampff test. The correct response in this instance would be to widen your eyes, shake your head involuntarily as if recalling a deeply buried but indelible memory and say: "That is one of the most brutal fight scenes I have ever seen in my life." There will likely be a breathless follow-up question about your opinion of the notorious "prison albino", but you're on your own with that one.

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Punishing, extended scenes of violence paired with brazenly softcore sex sequences may not be sound like the sort of consciously disreputable TV that wins Emmys. Much of Banshee is hard to watch, and almost indefensible. But in its own beguiling way, Banshee is a distant, lizard-brain-tickling cousin of Mad Men. Both dramas revolve around an attractive, self-sabotaging man trying to exorcise past demons by remaking himself. In Banshee, it's a nameless thief (convincingly rough-and-ready Kiwi actor Antony Starr) trying to reconnect with his ex-partner Ana (Ivana Milicevic) after a 15-year stretch. But Ana is now called Carrie, having settled down with her oblivious husband and family in the supposedly quiet Pennsylvania town of Banshee.

After conveniently witnessing the murder of Banshee's newly arrived sheriff, Lucas Hood, the crim with no name finds a rather dramatic way to reinsert himself into Ana/Carrie's life, by adopting Hood's identity. His knowledge of police procedure may be shaky, but sharp criminal instincts and a two-fisted approach to justice make "Hood" a surprisingly effective sheriff, especially in a town filled with elements seemingly grouped for maximum volatility.

There's excommunicated Amish slaughterhouse owner Kai Proctor (Ulrich Thomsen), the local heavy, and a nearby Native American reservation where tribal elders tussle to squeeze the most out of their lucrative gambling provision. Sizzling like a fuse throughout season one is the vengeful spectre of Ukranian crimelord Rabbit (veteran actor Ben Cross from Chariots of Fire), desperate to make Hood and Ana pay for a surprisingly personal betrayal 15 years ago. Colourful characters keep popping up to get put down, and while Hood is irresistible to every woman in the county, he also takes a series of tangible beatings.

The rollicking plots are powered by noir staples: greed, lust, revenge, markedly poor decision-making and cosmically unlucky coincidences. But Banshee is by no means brainless. It initially came billed as a new show from True Blood creator Alan Ball, but he's only the executive producer. It's really the hyperactive brainchild of novelists David Schickler and Jonathan Tropper, who both seem like smart dudes. In 2000, Schickler had a short story published in the New Yorker that was so well-received, it almost became a Richard Linklater movie. To zig-zag from serious literary ambition to a TV show that feels like Road House: The Series sounds like an interesting story of reinvention in itself.

In an echo of Hood's brassneck turn as sheriff, Banshee has fronted its way on to prestige-minded Sky Atlantic in the UK, whereas in the US, its home is Cinemax – the exploitation arm of HBO, known affectionately as "Skinemax". If that feels rather meta, then so does the start of season two: after the climactic collision of various lurid plotlines at the climax of season one, tonight's episode is essentially an official accounting of each character's bad behaviour. Is this Banshee acknowledging its critics and itemising its excesses in an attempt to settle down like Ana/Carrie? Has it belatedly become a bluff-able show? Nope. Because it has recruited the reliably gonzo Julian Sands as the leader of a gang of uzi-toting priests. Well played, Banshee. Well played.

• Banshee, Sky Atlantic, Mondays, 10.10pm