I’m not going to waste time telling you about the soul-crushing disappointment that was True Detective’s second season. How many hours (and Sunday evenings) did I waste on HBO’s incoherent, overly complicated, relentlessly boring rat hole of a season? Nine? Ten? Don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.
Were there a few great moments? Yeah, maybe, but not nearly enough (and none nearly that great) to make up for all of the empty, useless, brooding space in between. All the talking and smoking and staring and frowning and smoking and talking and staring and frowning and talking and… wait… who’s that guy again?
Look, I just want to put this behind me now, and maybe even pretend it didn’t happen. But before I do, here are my favorite Instagram posts about Season 2 (at least so far):
Maybe laughing about how awful this season was (okay, except maybe for Colin Farrell) will help our collective psyches just put it behind us faster. What a shame. It could have been so great.
Maybe next time.
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