I was hoping to maintain my gaze on True: Detective Night Country in this review, but seeing as seemingly everyone else has already had a say, I thought I’d offer my observations via a different prism. If you haven’t heard, the creator of True Detective, Nic Pizzolatto, has been denouncing Night Country on social media, mostly by reposting other people’s critiques on his Instagram account. This is the kind of passive-aggressive behavior I could abide if, say, each of the three seasons he wrote was a masterpiece. After all, if that were the case, then being overly protective of that work would make a lot of sense. In reality, however, season two, and three to a lesser extent, were at best underwhelming and at worst outright unwatchable. Not only that, but Pizzolatto also famously reacted poorly to criticism of those seasons, so you’d think he express some empathy for Issa López, the showrunner of Night Country. Instead, he’s taking the low road, exhibiting a pettiness that would only be (somewhat) justifiable if this latest installment were somehow the worst of the bunch, thusly tainting further the already tainted brand he built. With this in mind, here are my thoughts on True Detective: Night Country. Let’s see if Pizzolatto is at all in the right.

When a team of scientists mysteriously disappear from their research station in northern Alaska, police chief Liz Danvers (Jodie Foster) and trooper Evangeline Navarro (Kali Reis) investigate. When it becomes apparent that these scientists might somehow be connected to a cold case of Danver and Navarro’s, the murder of an Inupiat women named Annie K, the two resolve to get answers they’ve long been seeking. That’s a basic synopsis of Night Country, a six-episode season that has quite a lot more going on than the case at its core. Nonetheless, the specifics of the story are for you to discover, should you watch it. What I’m here to discuss is the execution of said story, one that noticeably draws from a number of previous TV shows and movies, such as Twin Peaks, Wind River, and the first season of True Detective. Now, I know what you might be thinking: those are some fine projects from which to draw inspiration. To that I’d respond, sure, but only if it can be done seamlessly as to avoid being awkwardly obvious. Sad to say, when it comes to Night Country, “seamless” doesn’t seem to be in Issa López’s repertoire.

If I were to explain how Wind River and True Detective‘s first season influence Night Country, then I’d end up spoiling things. Therefore, I’m just going to talk about its Twin Peak-like elements, specifically its divisive use of supernatural occurrences to further the plot. To preface, I understand that Inupiat culture has its own sets of beliefs and myths, some of which have to do with the spirits of the dead. So, it’d almost be a waste not to integrate that into Night Country, especially seeing as it’s set in winter, a time when Alaska is mired in perpetual darkness. The thing is, though, one has to establish a certain tone in order for the supernatural to feel natural in any story grounded by heavy themes, such as the murder of a young woman. With Twin Peaks, creators David Lynch and Mark Frost took this into account, crafting a narrative that was notably bizarre and humorous, as well as serious and tragic. It was a combination that worked, for the most part. Nevertheless, for Night Country, López took a different path, opting for something more modern and realistic, with splashes of horror. This ended up being a mistake.

The main problem with López’s approach to the supernatural isn’t so much that it’s included, but rather how it’s included. If you recall, Pizzolatto’s first season was suffused with philosophy and mythology, occasionally skirting the edge of reality and fantasy. So, the supernatural isn’t exactly new to True Detective, but what is new is using it as storytelling-caulk to seal the holes in the plot. Pizzolatto smartly avoided relying on the paranormal to buoy his teleplays, opting instead to optimize and spotlight the central mystery and the individuals embroiled in it. Conversely, López embeds mystical moments into Night Country whenever she’s able, especially when a character hits a snag and needs a ghostly finger to point them in the right direction. Had this kind of supernatural shortcut been utilized only once, then it would’ve been tolerable. Sadly, it’s a trick López lazily keeps going back to, and to greatly diminished returns. Even so, such contrivances are ultimately forgivable if they’re eventually explained away in practical terms. And at first, I thought these otherworldly incidents would be accounted for that way. It’s not like López didn’t give herself ample possible explanations, such as the perpetual darkness driving people mad or the very polluted water doing the same. In the end, she went with “Northern Alaska and its people are kinda magic.” Oh, okay, uh-huh… what?

To be fair, López has argued that, like season one, the paranormal events in Night Country can be rationalized. Personally, I couldn’t rationalize them, and so, I didn’t care for them. Either way, it seems like a lot of people really enjoyed the creepy, ghostly elements, so maybe I just need to accept that they simply weren’t for me. Fine, I’m more of a character guy anyway. If Danvers and Navarro are at all as engaging as Rust and Marty were, then all is well. Unfortunately, all is not well; Danvers and Navarro are, in a word, off-putting. Let’s start with Danvers, who works better than Navarro partially due to Jodie Foster’s layered performance, and partially due to being more consistently realized. There’s a world out there where I really like Danvers. She’s crass, controlling, jaded, or in other words, a compilation of Rust and Marty’s personality flaw best hits. In order for a character like her to fire on all cylinders, she only needs a foil; someone to banter and bicker with. You know, like how Rust and Marty had humorously distinct personalities, making their interactions pure television gold.

Alas, Danvers is partnered with Navarro, an unconvincing character who simply has too much on her plate for six measly episodes. Serving as the primary conduit to the Inupiat people, their struggles with mental health, the supernatural aspects, AND a spate of violence against women, Navarro is almost always in crusader-cop mode. The end result is a character who gets very little downtime for much-needed humanization, an issue that’s exacerbated by the fact that Reis excels in quieter moments but really pales in comparison to Foster in the louder ones. It also doesn’t help that Navarro, when in cop mode, behaves quite similarly to Danvers, with the exception that she’s less jaded and more reckless. Consequently, she ends being similarly frustrating and unlikable, which is a predicament because she’s supposed to be the heroic one. One could counter by arguing that Marty and Rust were both frustrating and unlikable back in season one. To that I’d say, fair, but they were also utterly electric due to Harrelson and McConaughey’s heightened acting and amusing rapport, and season one as a whole benefited from the lack of disparity between them as performers. This is why I feel badly for Reis, an actress who’s on the rise, but whose inexperience is magnified when paired with Jodie frickin’ Foster.

Another reason that season one excelled was that Pizzolatto knew better than to hamper his leads with too many side characters, especially in the form of family members. That said, I understand why that approach worked for him and not for López. Mainly, it’s more conventional to create loner male protagonists than it is to do that for female ones. Therefore, making Danvers an absentee step-mom and Navarro a caretaker sister is sensible from a screenwriting standpoint. As I said earlier, Reis is at her best in her quieter scenes, particularly the ones with her mentally disturbed sister. I was generally of fan of this subplot, even if it felt slightly superfluous. Speaking of superfluous, Danvers’ daughter Leah (Isabella Star LaBlanc) adds virtually nothing to the story. Her main purpose seems to be to shine a light on the natives protesting the local silver mine over its complicity in polluting the local water supply, resulting in a spate of stillborn babies. On the whole, Night Country’s environmental concerns are actually well-said without being preachy, and I also dug the subtle implication that Leah’s interest in these issues is undercut by her naivety and yearning to belong. Be that as it may, another character could’ve performed her role, seeing as Leah’s subplot with Danvers ends up bearing little fruit. Somehow, the side character issues don’t end here.

Generally, I try to avoid identity politics, especially when it comes to reviews and such. That being said, I remember the flack that Pizzolatto received after season one concluded – his “women problem”. To summarize, some women felt that his female characters were underwritten and under-represented. Well, if that’s true, and it sort of is, then I think it’s fair to state that López has a “men problem”. In Night Country, men aren’t shown in the best light; they’re almost all greedy, misogynistic, and violent, especially toward women. Hank (John Hawkes) is a great example of this characterization, being both a bitter chauvinist and a pitiful policeman. Sure, there are two “good” male side characters: Hank’s son and fellow policeman Peter (Finn Bennett), and Navarro’s quasi-boyfriend Eddie (Joel Montgrand). But, if you really look at how these two guys are used, you realize that they’re both utterly servile to the women around them, specifically Peter to Danvers and Eddie to Navarro. To clarify, I’m not contending that it’s problematic for men to kowtow to women every once and a while; there’s equity in that. Rather, I’m asserting that it is problematic to only feature male characters who are either decidedly corrupt and domineering toward women, or thoroughly upright and meek toward them, without any men existing in the margins.

In some ways, this lets Pizzolatto off the hook for his “women problem”. However, he’s not off the hook, and never will be, for how he botched True Detective season two. Regardless of his claim that he didn’t cave to critical pressure when writing that season, it’s apparent to me that he did in many cases. Its ending, in which his two female leads – the last ones alive – escape to Venezuela, really comes across as Pizzolatto declaring, “here you go, ladies” in a deadened, patronizing tone. In fact, I’ve always interpreted the second season as a screenwriter metaphorically shouting “f*ck you” by means of eight aggravating episodes. After all, it must’ve annoyed Pizzolatto to have less than a year to craft his follow-up to season one, which he concocted over the course of several years. That alone would be enough to make me loathe my job and newfound success, to the point it’d impact my writing. Of course, it’s quite possible that I’m wrong about Pizzolatto and season two. Nonetheless, I still think it’s one of the most confounding, ugly, and disappointing seasons of television that I’ve ever seen.

So, was Pizzolatto right to denigrate True Detective: Night Country? No, absolutely not. Sure, Night Country is a clumsy, meandering mess, but it’s written earnestly and does its best to incorporate some meaningful matters of our time into its various plot lines. It’s also a concerted attempt to revive a faltering series, which it accomplished and then some, garnering more viewers for this series than ever before and earning a season five renewal. For these reasons, I would rank it above season two, which remains the biggest letdown of the series. With all of this taken into account, I can’t help but view Pizzolatto’s shit-posting as childish, inconsiderate, and ironic. I get why some people are on his side, though; season one of True Detective was fantastic. But you know what it also was? A one-hit wonder. So, maybe it’s time we all accept that and look for our detective-mystery fix elsewhere.

If I had to score it, I’d give True Detective: Night Country a 5/10.