Watching True Detective—especially the gripping first episode—it is easy to see
literary realism conventions at play in both the narrative of the series as well
as the two main characters. Both Rustin “Rust” Cohle (Matthew McConaughey) and Martin
“Marty” Hart (Woody Harrelson) fit into the archetype of protagonists of
believable agency and power, as well as flaws. Both have a trajectory toward a
sort of “dynamic stasis,” where both characters shift and change methods of
operation, perhaps, but hold fast to the same core characteristics at the
conclusion of their arc as they had at the beginning.
But, while character and plot
similarities are obvious links between realist works in different mediums—and
the obvious and massive similarity between literature and television—how these
conventions are portrayed in the given medium becomes the focus of attention.
Specifically, is there a benefit to the way the genre conventions of realism
are brought about via television as compared to literature? The answer is yes,
but the explanation is less style and more utilitarian.
It’s said that a picture is worth a
thousand words, but when a picture is only presented to an audience for a second,
or less, it can seem to be worth considerably less. The source material for
many films and television shows often amounts to far more reading time than it
takes to run the film or episodes of the show, making time—a consideration not
often given to a piece of print media, as it can be consumed at any rate and
with little maintenance. A novel, for instance, can be started and stopped
simply by diverting ones eyes. For television, though, the viewer must be
forced to see certain things while viewing, as there will be pieces missed.
While few readers only read two of every three words, a viewer is forced to
shift visual focus to certain parts of the screen and necessitate losing focus
of other parts of the frame. Further, a television episode is meant to be
consumed at a set rate—60 frames per second. Given the limitation of scope, True Detective uses techniques to aid
the viewer in most effectively consuming each episode.
Foremost among these techniques for
balancing efficiency and accuracy of the viewer’s reading is point of view.
While literary realism often employs a third person, omniscient narrator that
is able to shift point of view, television rarely does this in an explicit way.
While True Detective does have two
on-screen narrators—both Rust and Marty—neither is omniscient, and each
is a narrator that is heavily biased in the telling of their own tale. This
leaves the camera itself as the one omniscient narrator and the one that is
without bias. Consistently, the camera uses the shot reverse shot structure
that is often seen film and television. However, from the beginning, there is
an intimacy of camera presence. The first, present-day shot is of the front of
a camera lens as it zooms in to focus. The next thing we see is a medium shot
of Marty as he mentions that “you don’t pick your parents and you don’t pick
your partner.” This is a symbolic bonding with Marty, and a subtle hint at
forced point of view. The viewer is not picking its “partners” in the
series—the people whose point of view we will be asked to take.
Rust and Marty are both continually
shot from eye level in close-up, creating a subtle visual cue of equality with
the viewer. With this repetitive use of portrait-like shots, we, the audience,
will naturally gravitate towards these characters, as they are shot with a
visual intimacy often reserved only for oneself and perhaps their partner. It’s
no mistake that the way in which Rust and Marty are shot in flashback is
reminiscent of someone looking in a mirror. The director is forcing us to
accept their points of view, and with it, each half of the series omniscience.
The dichotomy created with Marty and Rust is a subject of immense interest, as
they are quite often sitting at opposition in well-known paradigms—religion/secularism,
rule-abiding/rule-breaking, light/dark, desirous of structure/rejection of
structure. Even their seating positions within the same room in their
present-day interviews with the two detectives are oppositely placed. However,
this relationship is one that there is not room to explore in more detail at
this point, but which is vital to the series.
This omniscience of the camera as
narrator is further reinforced by the variety of shots interspersed with the
point of view shots. Aerial shots, crane shots, long shots, medium shots, and
close ups are all used with frequency in episode one and throughout the series.
While doing this, the director is careful to limit camera movement, which often
hints at something otherworldly or inhuman, and would perhaps frame the
narrative away from the connection with the everyday that is often the marquee
of realism. On the rare occasions that the camera makes any sort of substantial
movement, it is most often used to reinforce the authority of the camera as the
narrator, or to give more humanly characteristics to Rust and Marty. When the
two men are discussing how best to give Rust a quick escape from the
obligations of dinner with Marty’s family, a handheld camera is used to present
vulnerability and grittiness in the flaws of Rust’s character. He is having a
hard enough time standing, and the shaky wobble of the camera in the hands of
its operator reinforces this. Other times, the camera will slowly move to
assume the points of view of Rust or Marty, again giving the impression that
the camera is a narrator floating from point of view to point of view in order
to show the viewer everything.
Linearity is another inherently
realist element—as all earthly life is linear from birth to death. But
linearity also creates a connection with the mundanity that is a staple of
realist literature. However, since there is a finite space in which a
television series has to tell its tale, the feeling of linearity and the
ensuing monotony of real life must be efficiently represented. Constantly this
is being visually reinforced, but quickly, with numerous shots of Rust and
Marty driving—visuals that are thinly veiled symbols for them advancing the
series arc. There is a visual emphasis on roads and highways, both literal representations
of the linearity of a journey and symbolic visual representations for the
linearity of life. As Rust and Marty travel, the viewer perceives not only
where they are going in that particular linear moment, but we also perceive, in
absentia, where Rust and Marty have been, and are reminded that they operate in
the same way as any real human. While off-screen space is often the domain of
the uncanny and the superhuman, on screen is the realm in which the earthly
operates. Rust even directly remarks that the interview in present-day still
must fit into his linear schedule, as at noon on Thursdays, a day when he
doesn’t work, he starts drinking. The series linearity must yield for a moment
to Rust’s personal, unimpeded linearity.
Situated between the realm of
viewing efficiency and largely uninterrupted linear plot movement is True Detective’s tendency to put an
emphasis on still-frame shot composition. The first shot of the Dora Lange
crime scene is visually suggestive of some of the frontier paintings of 1800s
America, but with the unceasing movement of time accounted for in the shape of
the relatively modern police cars. Further, doorways, windows, patterns and
light are constantly framing Marty. In both instances, the attention to the
composition of the still frame allows for further detail about each character
as well as the plot arc to be gathered when pausing the episode and examining
the shot. From a shot of the dinner at Marty’s that Rust attends and soldiers
through after arriving very drunk, you can see, prior to being divulged later
in the season, the difficulty of Marty’s marriage by his placement opposite his
wife at the table, and Rust’s isolation from any characters other than Maggie.
The framing of Marty on his way into the CID headquarters, and the debrief with
the rest of the detectives, is a hint as to what tact of investigation Marty
will endorse and the limitations of his approach to the case, as he is at the
mercy of the rules and structures that he adopts and chooses to obey and operate
within, yet is often at odds with. The use of rich visual shot composition yet
again acts as a means for True Detective
to provide information and present themes that they would not otherwise be able
to do within the constraints of their medium.
As the series continues, and more
plot threads are developed, these techniques should increase in frequency and
become more elaborate. Though perhaps realist television, as compared to
literary realism, will never be able to impart as much specific detail in theme,
characterization and convention, the visual medium has adapted to be able to
operate within this realm effectively and efficiently and does so through
techniques unique to television, rather than lengthening episode run times or
typical episode numbers for seasons. Because of this, televised serial realism,
as a medium, has a stronger link to meta-historicity of the genre of realism.
Cinematographic techniques, which are heavily based on technology, have been
evolving in the past few decades at a staggering rate, and still have the
potential to continue to do so. Meanwhile, literary techniques—though far from
being perpetually static—have been explored for a much longer time. Serial
realism delivered on television will become iconically entwined with its
historical period simply due to the medium’s strong link to technology. Because
of this, television very well could become the more effective, and authentic,
medium for realism in the ensuing decades.
