On July 13 last year, I finished watching the last episode of "True Detective" and packed up to leave home and return to Beijing. I stayed at home in the South for the week from graduation to work, and spent almost a whole week in bed because I was sick, watching the show on a slow, night-by-episode pace. The theme song of True Detective is called 'Far from any road'. I started from the humid and nostalgic south of Texas. Which road did I go to? As if I was in a chaotic cornfield, I deeply remember the confusion, depression and despair in every scene in the play.
Until today, a year later.
Some people say that strong people look for ideals in novels, while mediocre people look for reality only in stories. I am such a mediocre person, looking for a realistic mapping from almost every story I like, pursuing similar scenes, atmospheres, and feelings, and then taking the opportunity to cry. And "True Detective", although it is telling a good story about detection, but more important than the clues and plot of the story, is undoubtedly the joys and sorrows of Rust and Marty. It’s all too easy to lick our wounds by finding empathy in the two of them, and Rust is the inner self: self-sacrificing in relationships with others, eccentric, genius philosopher, and a fanatical search for truth. Marty is the outer self: he has a fulfilling real life but the crisis has entered him unknowingly, ordinary, kind-hearted but always making mistakes, trying to maintain balance but still disappointing his family. Looking at Rust, it was like finding the self who was independent but not understood. Looking at Marty, it was like finding the self who worked hard to integrate into the society. When they look at their enhanced version of themselves, when they show a familiar emotion, it's like it's already their own.
Let yourself be lonely like Rust, annoyed like Marty, perpetually angry like Rust, and sometimes cynical like Marty. They were both pitiful, so this self-pity was reflected on themselves.
Why are they both so pitiful? Because from True Detective I feel that everyone is trapped in a maze. In the sweltering Texas air, in a mysterious religious setting, Rust was once so close to the truth, yet so far away. And in one familiar scene after another, Marty repeatedly disappointed his wife and stepped into the same river countless times. They handled the case calmly and calmly pursued the murderer, but at the same time they were pursued by fate. Rust is a tough guy, a silent tough guy, but if only living in a one-person apartment with four white walls can see the truth of the mystery, that's for Marty, and the rest of us in general. Is it too heavy.
All detective stories need a truth, bad guys are found, heroes look at the stars in the night. But just because this is the fateful ending, I don't feel the slightest bit of joy. On the train heading north a year ago, I just tasted and chewed Rust's loneliness repeatedly, Marty's overwhelmed, the two of them faced the anger, fear and nowhere to vent in the hot southern summer, just like The sweaty shirt collar clinging to his neck.
There are equally mysterious opening and closing songs, as mysterious as a jungle and as captivating as poetry.
"The angry river rises
As we step into the rain"
When the ending song ended a year later, I still didn't understand what the road was after the rain curtain.
Actually Marty is as strong as Rust.
And I'm such an idiot.
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