True Detective: The poetics of complex narrative

First of all, like last week, and ‘Girls’, ‘True Detective’ is another show that’s been on my radar for months (since before it ran on HBO) and I haven’t had time to sit down and watch. And once again, like ‘Girls’, I loved it. Really enjoyed the discussion this week, particularly as much of it revolved around ‘The Wire’, which I harped on about in last week’s blog post, as a stellar and culturally important example of complex narrative on television.

There was a quote from Jason Mittel regarding narrative that I particularly appreciated, pointing out complex television’s “underlying assumption that a series is a cumulative narrative that builds over time, rather than resetting back to a steady-state equilibrium at the end of every episode”. I feel like that lack of closure, the slow, steady world building that so many modern, complex television series employ is one of the key features of ‘quality television’. I actually now find it difficult to watch and enjoy series that don’t feature intuitive character development and lasting consequences for these characters’ actions – consequences that stretch beyond the closing credits of that night’s episode. So, quality TV has made me a televisual snob, which is a little disappointing, but so much TV now employs elements of complex narrative, even shows that don’t possess that ‘quality’ brand.

I also loved David Simon’s explanation of how audiences of ‘The Wire’ are required to pay attention, that his show isn’t made for the ‘average’ viewer. What’s so great about this, is that even though a show like ‘The Wire’ is dense and deep, and tricky to follow at first (for me, anyway), by the end of the first series, you possess an understanding and appreciation of those characters and the story that extends beyond regular, episodic TV. When a character makes a breakthrough in the case, or is shot, these events impact the viewer hard, because we’ve been with them and experienced their full character. In “The Long Bright Dark”, there are a few scenes that consist solely of conversations between Martin and Rust, sitting in a car. These conversations are what Mittel labeled ‘satellites’ – they don’t have a direct impact on the series’ overarching murder, and probably (I’ve only seen the first episode) aren’t integral to the plot, but they are integral to these men’s relationship, and the personal philosophies each man believe in. They “provide texture, tone, and character richness” (Mittel), so that we invested in their story.

A further example of that deep attention we’re encouraged to spend on a quality series, and the role of complex narrative, is True Detective’s use of multiple timelines. There are two obvious ones, the initial investigation of a murder in 1995, and the re-visiting of that investigation seventeen years later. There are easy enough to distinguish – the actors’ have visibly aged, and much of the ‘modern’ timeline is viewed through a police officer’s camera, lending it a ‘home video’ style. However, within the 1995 era, the timeline shifts occasionally, causing initial confusion (again, possibly just for me) over when certain events take place. Shots of Rust visiting Martin’s house are flirted with early in the episode, only for the scene to be fully revealed later, creating an early sense of foreboding around this taciturn, haunted figure.

In terms of genre, ‘True Detective’ is another example of ‘quality’ television’s tendency to blur generic lines. In broad terms, it’s a police procedural. Two detectives investigate the murder of a young woman. However, it’s clearly much more than this. It draws on elements of the Southern Gothic genre – its setting obviously fueling the comparison, though it also possesses an unsettling, somewhat supernatural tone. ‘True Detective’ also feels like a thriller at times, evoking David Fincher’s ‘Se7en’ in its bleak, grimy style and ritualistic murder.