The last dazzling memory I have of a series, a genre that during a period of HBO remained in a frequent state of grace, is the first season of True Detective. What fear and tension it provoked in that humid and evil landscape, watching that tormented, obsessive, suicidal, hopelessly honest despite himself police officer, played by the hypnotic Matthew McConaughey, searching through the marshes and swamps of Florida to fight evil, once morest that devil who rapes and murders children and losers. The problem was that his creator, Nic Pizzolato, did not assume that he had touched the sky with that disturbing masterpiece and tried to prolong it. The second and third seasons were as tired as they were pretentious. And the beginning of the fourth (True Detective: Polar Night) is nothing.
I have only witnessed the first chapter. Enough. At worst, it gets worse. Thanks to the petty policy of Movistar Plus+, a payment platform in which they insert even in the soup and which has taken to programming some series offering you only one episode per week. They treat their audience with absurd impositions. I imagine that in the name of mercantilism. They must think that they are the same bloated viewers of the horrible general television channels. They are doing me a favor with that tactic in the case. True Detective: Polar Night. I see the start with infinite reluctance and I definitively give up continuing with its development.
Pizzolato has defected, the creator of the new nonsense is called Issa López. And you can see that the argument above all is faithful to the quotas. There are murders in Alaska. Of women, with their tongues torn out. The protagonist is that extraordinary actress since she was a child called Jodie Foster, who appears here with a face and image devastated by time. And the script has to find him a daughter, Indian and lesbian, a black companion, militant demands. Feminist inclusion and power is transparent and legitimate. The problem is that this fashionable approach is at the service of a script and a production that have no interest in the slightest, in which you cannot believe anything.
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