Plot-wise, season one of True Detective was like an upside-down pyramid. It started off very tightly scripted with a gruesome but singular murder but bloomed into a Lovecraftian nightmare zone.
Season two is flipping the script, by starting with a bajillion different threads that my weak lizard brain found a bit overwhelming.
Which is to say, I didn’t care much for the first episode last night but I’m looking forward to the next one.
So far most of my sympathies lie with Rachel McAdams’ poor hair.