To give López his due, this season isn’t the first time True Detective has fallen short. Back in 2015, the rushed, sloppy follow-up to the first season by series creator and writer Nic Pizzolatto missed the mark by a long shot. Season two mirrored all the worst aspects of season one but cranked up to maximum speed—the brooding masculinity, the shallow portrayal of women as mere eye candy, and a failed attempt to replicate Matthew McConaughey’s iconic existential monologues through Colin Farrell's troubled detective character. Pizzolatto, perhaps trying to distance himself and HBO from accusations of plagiarism, mostly ditched the eerie supernatural elements that made season one so captivating: the shadowy occult figures, the mysterious Lovecraftian rituals, and the references to the "Yellow King."
If season two lacked supernatural elements, the third season in 2019 marked a triumphant return to form. Pizzolatto brought the series back to the Southern setting and a chilling cold case intertwined with occult terror, all set against a backdrop of nonlinear time and accompanied by a soul-stirring T. Bone Burnett soundtrack. However, by then, the television landscape had evolved, and True Detective found itself competing with its own progeny—shows like Mindhunter and The Terror, each carving out their own niche of True Detective's brilliance.
Nevertheless, buoyed by Mahershala Ali’s masterful performance as an aging detective grappling with a decades-old mystery, the third season crystallized the True Detective formula: a complex puzzle driven by rich character development, sprinkled with hints of a dark, otherworldly reality, shot with meticulous attention to visual aesthetics, and written with a distinct literary flair. Above all, True Detective must have a philosophy—a dedication to confronting those supernatural horrors, even if only in passing.
Night Country appears to check many of the boxes for a compelling storyline. Drawing inspiration from the real-life Dyatlov Pass incident, where an avalanche caused the deaths, the season revolves around unraveling the gruesome demise of a team of scientists. These individuals were discovered naked, frozen, and seemingly terrified to death in the icy wilderness near the small Alaskan town of Ennis. Ennis, populated mainly by Iñupiat residents, grapples with environmental devastation from a malevolent mining plant, leading to blackened water and an annual period of sunless polar night, heightening tensions as the local police launch their investigation.
Sheriff Danvers and Trooper Navarro, played by Foster and Reis, respectively, delve into solving the murders while confronting their own troubled past. The unsolved murder of an Iñupiaq activist surfaces, revealing unexpected links to the current crime and compelling the women to set aside their differences and collaborate in solving both cases simultaneously.
Similar to the first season, the finale transports us into a literal labyrinth, this time concealed within the ice caves beneath Ennis. López replaces the concept of the Yellow King with an unnamed divine feminine entity, possibly representing Sedna or Mother Nature. Throughout the season, there are playful nods to the "Blue King" crab company. The local inhabitants are acquainted with this entity, with some associating the spirit of the murdered activist with this ancient being. In the climactic episode, viewers are introduced, albeit indirectly, to this mysterious entity, as close as they can possibly get.
However, the similarities to the initial season are merely superficial. López didn't conceive Night Country as part of the True Detective universe originally, and her attempts to weave in references to prior True Detective seasons underscore this fact. Throughout season four, nods to season one are recurrent but often lack context and fail to align with the ongoing narrative. For instance, we discover that a character from season four had a connection to Rust Cohle's father; yet, what significance does this hold? Similarly, the revelation that the evil mining corporation has links to nefarious corporate figures from previous seasons falls flat. Despite the prevalence of spirals, their presence adds no depth to our comprehension of this familiar symbol.
López seizes upon the iconic line, "You're asking the wrong question," having characters repeat variations of it incessantly throughout season four. However, instead of enhancing the narrative, this repetition becomes ludicrous, serving as a hollow replacement for meaningful dialogue. Each reference, from mentions of the "flat circle" to obscure brands like Funyuns, amounts to little more than fan service—superficial additions that contribute nothing substantial to our understanding of the True Detective universe.
The excessive horror elements in Night Country suffer a similar fate, ranging from gratuitous jump scares to spectral occurrences that lack any apparent purpose. While season two completely eschewed the supernatural, Night Country bombards viewers with so many ghosts that their impact becomes diluted.
Additionally, some aesthetic choices in the show are so perplexing that they unintentionally elicit laughter. Night Country employs an oddly skewed soundtrack featuring mournful minor-key covers of well-known pop songs that starkly clash with the show's tone. Songs like Eagle-Eye Cherry's 1997 hit "Save Tonight" and eerie Christmas music create a dissonance that is more comical than atmospheric. In the finale, a dark emo rendition of "Twist and Shout" is introduced, and the solemnly delivered "Shake it up, baby" lands with such absurd dissonance that it prompts spontaneous laughter.
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