It's been a very basic week of dull weather and random injuries and day-long morning stares. The Lovely R smashed the ever living shit out of his thumb whilst putting together a new gate and I put my back out like a big old cull cow. So we've been sitting around hitting the landrace hard and going ow and complaining and my mind is pretty empty of shit worth writing down.
We have been watching season II of True Detective. I had a casual-to-complex relationship with the first series i.e. nonplussed by universal moans of critical pleasure despite all the jumbo-sized shortcomings but impressed by Nic Pizzollato at least trying something stylistically and somewhat in earnest. Which confuses me because I see exactly the same jumbo shortcomings in this new series while the public response seems so diametric this time around. Scary to think that novelty can be such a driver of perception.
Fundamentally I just don't get why so many writers struggle with dialogue. A viable character always speaks for themselves and that's all there is to it. While you could justifiably conclude that Pizzollato's never conversed with an adult human female, he is obviously talented and his instincts are sound. It's just that his most profound and deeply passionate observations so often flounder in the mouths of his human creations. His stuff is Batman in reverse- all real places and intelligent ideas but so few definitive protagonists. I fucking loathe Mathew McConaughey's oxygen-gobbling cymbal-banging and though he got all the damn credit, it was the soupy lowland ambiance, the stinky majesty of TD1, so instinctive and well chosen, that provided placental support for those moments of stunningly poetic truth about death and loss when he almost killed them with his bullshit, breathing for them, salvaging their integrity. I appreciated these narrative pearls to the extent that my admiration has outlived the memory of the words involved and the pompous clunk of their delivery.
We could bitch about the baffling, undisciplined plotting but I think I'll just call that shit character driven, avoid eye contact and change the subject, lol.
It's not like we're going to quit watching 2/3s of the way through, though.
Now I've shot my cognitive wad, so it'll probably be a lipstick review this week. Oh go on- you like those too. Soothing. Sooooooooothing.
I fucking hate panflutes.