Now that its second season is complete, I think it's safe to say this: We get the True Detective we deserve.
I will readily admit to getting swept up into the zeitgeist-bursting first season, though I wasn't one of those tinfoil hat-wearing viewers who spent the week between episodes reading Robert F. Chambers and trying to connect the dots between Carcosa and Marty Hart's daughter's Barbie-gang-rape tableau. I enjoyed watching two great actors deliver dialogue I wasn't hearing on other TV shows and went along for the ride. And because I didn't buy into the mystical hooey on the fringes, I felt vindicated when many other viewers were outraged that the show ended with Rust Cohle looking up at the stars.
