Douthat found True Detective‘s finale wanting:
The fact that the internet is full of defenses (or at least quasi-defenses) of the “True Detective” finale today is a testament to the show’s genuinely extraordinary qualities — direction, acting, atmosphere, and (sometimes) writing. But I’m afraid it’s also a testament to the human will to believe, often in defiance of the evidence, and reading the various apologia for the way the detective drama finished up I’m inclined to channel the show’s nihilist-hero’s harsh words about religion: “You gotta get together and tell yourself stories that violate every law of the universe just to get through the [expletive] day? What’s that say about your reality?”
Freddie deBoer blames the disappointment on the enthusiasm of the show’s viewers:
I would argue that True Detective, despite its pedigree, its status as a limited-run series of 8 episodes, and its resolute dedication to realism, had the same problem as Lost.
After all, the enormous public engagement and commentary on the show was largely dedicated to crackpot theories, the great fun of trying to piece together convoluted explanations of plot points both large and minute. That’s the fun of puzzlebox fiction, and why it has such obvious commercial appeal: the participatory nature of solving the puzzle fits perfectly in with the current way many people engage with fiction, which is by analyzing it in a way once reserved for critics and academics. The problem is that as you generate more and more outlandish theories, the expectations about the real conclusion become impossible to meet. Reality will always be a disappointment in relation to imagination.
Orr contends that the show’s “moments of greatness far outweighed its disappointments”:
All told, I feel a little bad for Nic Pizzolatto, who in retrospect seems to have written a powerful, engaging serial-killer miniseries that was so good early on that it raised expectations that it would be considerably more—expectations that, again, he’s seemed to spend the last couple weeks trying hard to ratchet down. Do I think some of the scenarios invented by the shows’ many rabid fans were better than what wound up on screen? Yes, I do. … But what writer is going to do a better job at a mystery series—especially so early in his career—than the combined ingenuity of a horde of meticulous fans who don’t really need to make the pieces all fit?
So now Pizzolatto has something to aim for next season. And I’ll be right there watching, hoping for a bullseye.
The Dish 