“The Killing” debuted on AMC last spring with one of the better pilot episodes in recent memory: It introduced a investigation, gave us a grisly murder, and provided plenty of potential suspects. Then the police officers — played deftly by Mireille Enos and Joel Kinnaman — began slowly, meticulously developing the case. It was exciting. Critics began mentioning it in the same sentence as “The Wire,” even if it was to say, “It’s not as good as ‘The Wire,’ but … ”
It was the anti-procedural. One case. 12 episodes. Multiple dead ends. Lots and lots of rain. We had no idea where it would take us, but the one thing we knew for certain was that, by the end of the season, we’d know who killed Rosie Larsen. And we were thankful, because by the 7th episode, we were exhausted: The dead ends were growing tiresome. The glacial pacing began to test our patience. By the 10th episode, watching “The Killing” became a chore, something we endured to get to the prize in the end. We’d invested so much already, what’s two or three more episodes, right? We’d find out who the killer was, and we’d quit.
And then the finale came, and we were like, FINALLY. And then it aired. And then the killer was not revealed. And then the Internet exploded with anger and bile and hatred and frustration. And Veena Sud, the showrunner, was all like, “We never promised you the killer’s identity by the end of the season,” and then she stuck out her tongue and went, “Na na na na.”
The Internet was all like, “F**k you, lady. You strung us along, and then you screwed us over.” And then Sud was all like, “OK. Fine. We’ll reveal the killer early in the second season, and then we’ll start on a new case.” And 60 percent of the viewers were like, “Screw that. I’m out.” And the other 40 percent were like, “OK. Fine. We’ll stick it out for three or four more episodes, because WE HAVE TO KNOW, and then we’re out, too.”
Cut to nine months later, and now Veena Sud is all like, “Remember when I said we’d solve the case early on in the second season? Well, I was kind of talking out of my ass. What I meant to say was: We’ll solve the case by the end of season two. Because we need to take a few more detours and go off in a few more tangents because that’s like life, man.”
And then the Internet was like, “You can go straight to hell, lady. Shove Rosie Larsen’s murder investigation right up your ass.”
Then AMC was all like, “Ummm. No comment. But look over here, Christina Hendricks’ boobs will be back in March! You still love us, right?”