INTERMISSION

So I haven’t written anything in forever — we’re preparing for our first baby due next month, which is consuming nearly all our free time and is hugely exciting!

I also haven’t read anything in forever — well, I’m halfway through The Happiest Baby on the Block, anyway, and working on 3D Engine Design for Virtual Globes for work, if those count. There are several upcoming releases I’m excited for, though: Nathan Ballingrud’s Wounds, John Langan’s long-awaited Sefira and Other Betrayals, and I believe Matthew M. Bartlett’s limited-edition chapbook If It Bleeds are all coming out very soon.

On the flipside of reading, I am extremely pleased that my short story Crypsis will be appearing in Martian Migraine Press’ forthcoming anthology of camouflage-themed cosmic horror, Monstrous Outlines!

I also have watched relatively few movies, other than a ton of horror movies (most old and cheesy to varying degrees) in October and November of last year. For the sake of writing something, anything, to justify the hosting fees for this place, I now present brief reviews of what I’ve seen in the last few months. Spoiler: Halloween III was the highlight by far.


True Detective, Season 3

I am actually not qualified to comment on this yet, as I still haven’t gotten around to watching the last episode of the season. That being said, up to that point the performances were exceptional (for the most part) and Pizzolatto continued to routinely make the second-best writing choices in any given situation and scene. I will revisit this once I’ve finished it.


Suspiria, dir. Luca Guadagnino

Look. I desperately wanted to like this movie. I tried so hard to see it in theaters, although it never came any close enough, geographically, to make that happen. I was jazzed to see the trailers, the visual direction, the increased focus on dance. Unfortunately, I found this movie to be Bad. It dragged on, it was riddled with unnecessary subplot, the nightmare sequences looked like comically cheesy film-student quality b-roll from the video tape in the American remake of The Ring, and the ending was just… really lame. I was so ready for this movie to be good, and it wasn’t even a case of me overhyping it to myself; it was just straight up unenjoyable to me.


The Shiver of the Vampires, dir. Jean Rollin

I originally thought this was better than Daughters of Darkness, but with more hindsight I’m not sure if I still feel that way. It was reasonably entertaining to have on while I made dinner, though, and was generally pretty serviceable. The vampires were seriously underpowered and frequently got knocked over with a strong shove, which was pretty funny. The two shithead male vampires would have done a good job as the two leads in an adaptation Lovecraft's "The Hound".


The Stuff, dir. Larry Cohen

I heard about this (and several other films I watched around this time) from the Horny 4 Horror podcast, which is pretty damn funny. On the one hand, this is not a good movie. On the other hand, it's got so many fake commercials for The Stuff, it's got Big Ice Cream, it's got Chocolate Chip Charlie, it's got an extremely unlikable protagonist, and it's The Taste That Makes You Hungry For More™. Bonus half-star for generally being insane.


Wishmaster, dir. Robert Kurtzman

Also watched thanks to Horny 4 Horror, this movie is fucking radical. A dude’s skeleton erupts out of his body and walks around in like the first five minutes. Is it incredibly cheesy? Hell yes. Does it have cameos from just about every major horror actor? Yes it does. Is Verne Troyer also in it? Yes he is. With Kurtzman at the helm, the practical effects are as good as any I’ve seen, essentially on the level of The Thing, which is obviously saying something. This is a fantastic movie to drink with/to/about.


Sleepaway Camp, dir. Robert Hiltzik

Hilariously bad but somehow still excellent, this is definitely a movie that could only have been made when it was (1983). I enjoyed the hell out of it, especially with Joe Bob Briggs’ insight and commentary (which, by the way, if you’re not subscribed to Shudder for, is a serious oversight if you enjoy horror).


Daughters of Darkness, dir. Harry Kümel

Another one I saw thanks to Joe Bob’s Last Drive-In. This was definitely more coherent than Vampyros Lesbos, but I’m not really sure that’s a strength. It did kind of wear on, and there’s an awful lot of suspiciously day-bright, blue-gel “night” shots.


Vampyros Lesbos, dir. Jesús Franco

This movie is exactly what you expect it to be from the name. A passing semblance of a plot, a ton of vampire breasts, and some fucking wicked psych-porno-jazz. Also, how weird is it that this, Shiver of the Vampires, and Daughters of Darkness all came out the same year? 1971 was all-in on the erotic vampire movies.


Halloween III: Season of the Witch, dir. Tommy Lee Wallace

The hottest new film in the Halloween franchise is called Halloween III: Season of the Witch. Released in 1982 and having nothing to do with Michael Myers, this movie has *everything*: the mother of all earworm product jingles, commercials for the original Halloween playing on TVs within this film, android men in black, Chekhov's stolen Stonehenge megalith, masks that melt kids' faces and cause bugs and snakes to crawl out and then the snakes bite their parents, early-1980s casual sexual harassment, a concerted effort on the part of the filmmakers to convince us that Tom Atkins is sexy, a villain whose motivation to commit mass child murder appears to be "eh, why not"... what more could you want?


Terrified, dir. Demián Rugna

Pretty decent, definitely entertaining enough and moves along at a pretty good clip. Also fairly cheesy in parts, but not distractingly so. Had some pretty imaginative parts too! My main beef is that the English subtitles were *very* bad (at least on Shudder, where I watched it). Plenty of times where the English was really grammatically wrong, or didn't match what was being said in Spanish, or had bad formatting, etc. I did appreciate that it was less than two hours long, which is hard to find these days! Overall, a decent thing to watch on an October night.


The Haunting of Hill House, dir. Mike Flanagan

This was great, but the ending was way out of sync with the rest of the show and frankly tanked it for me pretty considerably. Which is a shame, because otherwise it was quite good!


Apostle, dir. Gareth Evans

The main younger husband from Downtown Abbey vs. the "REMARKABLE!" guy from Twilight, a dude from Silent Hill, and a meat grinder. Overall pretty good, didn't blow me away but kept me pretty entertained.


The Wailing, dir. Na Hong-jin

Beautifully shot, excellent performances, great use of sound. Overall a totally stellar horror film. Yes, it’s pretty damn long, but it’s worth watching. Really, really good.

CARNIVOROUS HEAVY METAL INDONESIAN DEATH ALCOHOL GIALLO RADIO: SEPTEMBER QUICK REVIEWS

Gateways to Abomination, Matthew M. Bartlett

I’d seen a lot of word-of-mouth hype about this collection, and I was surprised and pleased to see that it lives up to everything I’d read. More of a novel presented as a series of connected short stories, some only a few pages in length. Bartlett has a great sense of both visceral, surreal horror and weirdness, and this was just an absolute pleasure to read. Even though Weird Massachusetts is a pretty heavily-used trope (one of which I myself am guilty of using), his Leeds remains totally original. A witch-cult running a local radio station is sublime, at least in his hands. I will gladly continue to tune into WXXT, way down on the sinister side of the radio dial. Highly recommended.


The Witch-Cult in Western Massachusetts, Matthew M. Bartlett

A very brief companion piece, essentially a chapbook, illuminating the lives of a number of the wicked characters appearing or mentioned in Gateways. The illustrations by Alex Fienemann are well done and match the semi-absurd, sometimes humorous evils of the coven described.


Unlanguage, Michael Cisco

Unlanguage is, I think, a masterpiece, albeit one nearly entirely beyond my ability to describe, let alone expound on; I have more to say, more I want to say, about Cisco’s novel, but I can’t find the words for it. In some ways during reading I found myself reminded of House of Leaves over and over, which isn’t to say that Cisco’s work is derivative or even that the two pieces are similar. The mental, emotional, and physical effects of the two, though, are comparable. It might be that what House of Leaves did with and to the structure of the novel, Unlanguage does with language itself. I haven’t read anything else by Cisco, so in that regard I have nothing to compare it with, but I often see his other works described as “challenging” and “experimental”, so I have to assume they’re similar in some ways. Even so, I can’t imagine anything can really touch Unlanguage. There are the books you read that make you think, “I could write this,” and the ones that you make think, “I could write something like this, but not as well,” and the ones that make you think, “this is way beyond what I could ever write.” Unlanguage is in a further category, the “I don’t understand how anybody could write this, or how it even exists” category. It’s a truly singular creation, and like House of Leaves and a handful of other works, the closest thing to a true mind-warping magical tome that we have in our world.


Black Helicopters, Caitlín R. Kiernan


Unfortunately, I felt like Black Helicopters took what I liked about Agents of Dreamland, padded it with a bunch of stuff I wasn’t into, and then also diluted the stuff that worked for me. The prose itself is still very good, Kiernan is a great writer, and a lot (most?) of what I didn’t enjoy is more due to my own tastes than anything the book does right or wrong. It just didn’t really work for me, unfortunately, coming off as too scattered to fully congeal or even really hold my attention. I’m all for books that jump forward and backward in time and space, but there was a lack of cohesion for me that kept things from really coming together. The parts of the story I was more interested in were given relatively little time on the page. Read Agents of Dreamland first if it sounds appealing; if you’re really into it, give this a shot, but otherwise I can’t really recommend it unless you’re a big Kiernan fan.


The Children of Old Leech, edited Ross E. Lockhart

I’ve had this since Christmas and shamefully only just finally got around to reading it, but better late than never. Definitely a strong collection overall, especially for those (like me) who can't get enough Laird Barron. John Langan's "Ymir" is the standout, unsurprising given both his superb writing and his close friendship with Barron, but several of the other stories were great as well. I really enjoyed Stephen Graham Jones' "Brushdogs", "The Old Pageant" by Richard Gavin was nice and subtle, and Scott Nicolay and Jesse James Douthit-Nicolay's "Tenebrionidae" was excellent for its rail-riding voice and weirdness. Michael Griffin's "Firedancer" didn't hit 100% for me, but did leave me wanting to read more of his work.  In total, it's a great supplement to Barron's own stories. I don't know that any besides "Ymir" are strictly required reading, but none were bad and the average quality was quite high


Deep Red, dir. Dario Argento

As a huge fan of the giallo aesthetic, it was pretty criminal that I hadn’t seen this; it’s finally been rectified. There’s good reason that this is frequently cited as one of the quintessential entries in the genre, because it is absolutely superb. Obviously, Goblin’s score is excellent and perfectly supplements the film, which is Argento at his finest. Even though it came out several years after The Man From Y.E.T.I. aired, Deep Red really hammered home for me just how much giallo influence there was in that series, and it’s no secret that endlessly analyzing that bizarre show is one of my prime hobbies; for that, I doubly enjoyed the film. If you’ve any interest in the genre and are late to catching this like I was, do yourself a favor and set things right.


Female Prisoner Scorpion: Jailhouse 41, dir. Shunya Ito

I’d vaguely heard of this series somewhere, was too brain-dead tired to pay scrutiny to anything too attention-heavy, and had two free months on Shudder; therein lies the story in my watching this art-meets-exploitation women-in-prison number courtesy 1972 Japan. On the one hand, the film is exploitation to the core, with essentially every character save Scorpion being almost cartoonishly nasty and brutal; Scorpion herself is almost entirely characterized by her speaking barely a handful of times throughout the whole movie. I was surprised that there’s less nudity than I expected, but regardless, just about every interaction between any and all the characters is savage and nasty. On the other hand, Shunya Ito seemed to basically be able to do whatever he wanted, resulting in a lot of surreal, beautiful shots and sequences. The juxtaposition of the two headspaces here gives me ample ground to use hefty red string to connect Jailhouse 41 to giallo on my film conspiracy board, despite very clear tonal differences. I’d be interested in watching others of the Scorpion films to see how they stack up. All things considered, though, any recommendation here hinges on whether you think you’d like a sometimes-surreal women-in-prison exploitation film, which is doubtless something you already know about yourself.


Mandy, dir. Panos Cosmatos

Apparently, after Beyond the Black Rainbow, Cosmatos got really into Twin Peaks: The Return, listened to a ton of metal albums, and then called up Nic Cage. This is what I’ve mentally reconstructed from the evidence that is Mandy, anyway. It is the most metal thing I’ve ever seen. It is probably the finest vehicle Nic Cage will ever have, in terms of enabling him to go full-on Nic Cage. The score is absolutely flawless. It is, as you would expect from Cosmatos, blisteringly beautiful, with colors and cinematography like a downtuned acid trip with scorpion-sting chaser. It is also kind of weirdly misogynistic, not unlike Black Rainbow, which is unfortunate, although at least Mandy is a bit less so than that earlier film. Or it seems that way to me, anyway. Still, if you’re a fan of Nic Cage, heavy metal (the music, movie, or comic, take your pick), or insanely gorgeous film, and you’ve got the patience for a pretty slow first half, you owe it to yourself to check this out. My only disappointment was the incredibly limited theatrical release, because I desperately wish I could see this in a theater.


The Raid 2, dir. Gareth Evans

I watched The Raid: Redemption probably three to five years ago, thought it was awesome, and then forgot about it. Then I saw the trailers for Evans’ new film Apostle, and thought, “oh yeah, I should check out The Raid 2.”. Man! I watched this with my wife, a tremendously skilled martial artist, and we were both absolutely floored by this film. The choreography, filming, and performances with regards to the fighting were probably the best we’d ever seen. Most modern action movies are so cheesy, and everyone bemoans the 1/2 second shots and million-cuts-a-minute style that’s been going on for what seems like forever, but it’s still just unbelievably refreshing to see something done totally in opposition to that. Anyone who likes action or martial arts absolutely owes it to themselves to watch this; my only caveat is to watch The Raid first, and watch them close together; the huge gap between my watching the first and second films made it really hard to figure out who was who and what the hell was going on for the first 20 minutes, because this picks up right where the first one left off and explains practically nothing. Still, that’s one small caveat for so much excellence.

AUCTION, BURNING, HUNGER, SPORES, VORTEX, LETDOWN: AUGUST QUICK REVIEWS

The Starry Wisdom Library: The Catalogue of the Greatest Occult Book Auction of All Time, edited by Nate Pedersen

An anthology styling itself as the auction catalogue of every Cthulhu mythos-adjacent tome ever invented; a book concerned entirely with fake books, placing it immediately in my wheelhouse. The first and, in my opinion, most important thing to note here is that the typesetting and layout was done by the incomparable Andrew Leman, he of the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, giving it an immediate air of historical legitimacy and outright beauty. At no point does the book ever break character and wink at the reader, which, given my own inclinations, I greatly, greatly appreciate. The entries themselves are numerous, uniformly quite short, and all generally of good to high quality; none of them stood out as anything less than enjoyable. A great many of the current heavy hitters in weird lit are present, including Stephen Graham Jones, Michael Cisco, Livia Llewellyn, Molly Tanzer, and John Langan, among many others. There are also several illustrations (woodcut or wood engraving prints) by the superb Liv Rainey-Smith. I will say that, despite being such a slim volume, it took me a fair bit of time to get through just because of the sheer volume of entries. Nonetheless, there is essentially no way I couldn't enjoy this. As another reviewer put it, "if this is the sort of thing you love, you'll love this sort of thing." They weren't wrong. Recommended if you are the same specific kind of weirdo that I am, and if you run any type of mythos-oriented tabletop RPG, it's practically a necessity.


Furnace, Livia Llewelyn

Llewellyn's prose is excellent, but this collection didn't make much of an impact on me. I enjoyed the opening number, Panopticon, perhaps because she lets her writing chops run a bit more wild than in most of the other stories. Cinerous was ok for me with its strange, alternate-history French revolution setting and impending disaster, and likewise Yours is the Right to Begin was a lyrically excellent love poem from the brides of Dracula. I got more mileage out of Allochthon, in which a 1950s (I think?) suburban housewife is stuck in time, and It Feels Better Biting Down was a great tangle of bizarre twinned limbs. The titular story, Furnace, is probably my favorite, and I realized I'd read it somewhere previously, though I'm not sure if it was in Grimscribe's Puppets or elsewhere. Regardless, I felt it struck the best balance of character, atmosphere, prose, and story, and enjoyed it even more this time than the first. The Last, Clean, Bright Summer seems to be the crowd favorite from what I've read in other reviews, and I can see why; it's got portions of Ligotti and Lovecraft both, delivered via the young teen girl protagonist's diary entries. It was well done, for sure, but not entirely my thing, which is really how I would characterize the collection as a whole. I'll also add that the reviews and copy for the collection really talk up the erotic / sexual angle, but while a couple of the stories certainly feature (or focus on) that, there's less than I expected given the degree to which it's talked about. In any case, there's no denying Llewellyn's skill or talent, but most of the stories here just didn't quite line up with own tastes in weird lit enough for me to really get into them. This is, of course, more a statement on my preferences than on the quality of the collection. Recommended for generally high-quality weird lit, although if you haven't read any Llewellyn and you tend more towards the Barron / Lovecraft side of the spectrum, I'd try it via library or digital edition rather than buying it outright.


They Don't Come Home Anymore, T. E. Grau

A nice, punchy novella from Grau dealing with teenage obsession and death's (im)placability. This work lands medium-high for me; as always with Grau, it's excellently written, and the subject matter and tone was enough to keep me interested and wanting to finish it briskly. It didn't hit the blistering heights of my favorite pieces of his (Transmission and Truffle Pig, both in his top-notch collection The Nameless Dark), but was very much worth the read. It struck a great balance between offering tantalizing information on the supernatural (or whatever you want to call it) element and keeping them enticingly unexplained, which is obviously a critically important tightrope walk for the genre. Recommended, though best as an appetizer or supplement to The Nameless Dark, which I'd consider required reading.


Agents of Dreamland, Caitlin R. Kiernan

Generally billed as a Cthulhu-mythos-vs-espionage-agency story, I wasn't sure what to expect out of this novella going in. Given my love for espionage stories and cosmic horror, and especially their intersection (cf. Tim Powers' Declare), this seemed like a necessary read. Overall, it was enjoyable, although I feel like that espionage angle is very much over-referenced in reviews and copy for the story; yes, several of the characters are employed by one agency or another, but it really does not have much of a bearing on the story here. And, speaking of the story, there is not an overwhelming amount to be found here. When I finished it I was initially disappointed, having hoped that the build-up would lead to a more satisfying climax. In retrospect, though, I think it's necessary to view this novella as a long-form short story (paradoxical as that is), rather than a short novel. In the more limited format of a short story, I wouldn't have thought twice about the way the story played out and how it ended; it was only in letting my expectations be tempered by the relative length of the work that I was let down. So, all things considered, I enjoyed it. Kiernan's writing here is quite good, and I'm invested enough that I ordered her related (and recently expanded) novella Black Helicopters. As long as you go in expecting atmosphere, flavor, and dread, rather than a novel's plot arc and a bunch of tradecraft, I would easily recommend it.


Berberian Sound Studio, dir. Peter Strickland

This film has been on my to-watch list for years, and I am so glad I finally got around to it; it immediately leaped into my all-time favorites with a speed not seen since I watched Resolution. Toby Jones' Gilderoy is a British sound engineer who has traveled to Italy to work on the innocently (and excellently) named The Equestrian Vortex, which to his surprise turns out to be the platonic ideal of 1970s Italian horror / giallo films. Aside from the stupendous title sequence, no footage of The Equestrian Vortex is shown, and so we are left only with the increasingly violent and deranged scene descriptions given in voice-over, the crunch and splatter of the foley work, and the endless screaming of the actresses. Long story short, the environment and the subject matter has an effect on poor, soft Gilderoy, though never in a way you'd expect. 

Everything about this film is perfect. The cinematography is absolutely top-notch, the sound design is obviously flawless, the performances are great. The nods, winks, and nudges to classic Italian horror and gialli are pitch-perfect and truly hilarious; the scene descriptions got funnier and funnier in how perfectly on-point and over-the-top they are, presenting a demented, ultra-violent exploitation film believable enough that I'd expect to see it in a crusty video store somewhere. The projectionist, never seen except for his black-leather-clad gloves, operates his machinery in short, violent cuts straight out of any giallo. Everything is ominous, and the inexplicable brutality of The Equestrian Vortex and the people making it are offset by the staid, calm precision of Gilderoy's equipment and his work. 

I suspect the only way I could like this movie more would be if I was a sound engineer myself, as there's clearly a lot of love and attention that you'd need inside-baseball knowledge to fully appreciate. That doesn't keep the film from being firmly lodged among my favorites, though, by a long shot.


The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears, dir. Hélène Cattet & Bruno Forzani

What a title! What a poster! What a trainwreck of a film! I feel like Cattet and Forzani were going for a kind of Lynchian neo-Giallo, and at least in my estimation they badly missed every mark. All of the artsy techniques one might see in a Lynch film, but with none of the art; a plot driven by sex and violence, but with none of the appeal of giallo. This movie was a resounding disappoint to me. I'd have loved to be able to hang the poster in my office, but unfortunately, no thank you. 

ONCE THERE WAS ONLY DARK: THE TRUE ENDING OF TRUE DETECTIVE SEASON 1

The first season of True Detective is some of the best television I've ever seen (second only to Twin Peaks: The Return, as far as I'm concerned), but there's something I don't understand about the ending. Or rather, there's something I don't understand about how people see the ending. It seems that the general consensus was that the ending was disappointing, with the build-up towards the paranormal abandoned for a more-or-less mundane antagonist, with the larger conspiracy untouched, and with a seeming tonal shift for Matthew Mcconaughey's Rust Cohle that doesn't match his character in the preceding episodes. I've seen plenty of folks let down by it, or who feel the show was more drama than horror, or who chafed at the sudden character turn. Even the great Laird Barron has said an in interview that Cohle's remarks about how the light is winning rings untrue. Obviously I'm not here to tell Mr. Barron about horror -- the man knows his business better than I ever will -- but I have a different take on the ending, one I haven't seen anywhere else in the years since the season ended. In short, I'd argue that the ending is the perfect capstone in the downfall of Rust Cohle.

When makes Rust Cohle special, what makes him able to get confessions from suspects whom no other detective can crack, what puts him at the center of the story? It's his pessimism, his insight into the essential nature of the world, which is the classic reality of all cosmic horror; humanity is an aberration in an uncaring and inimical universe. Cohle, via the death of his daughter and his time spent undercover, has seen past the veil and truly understands what kind of story he's in; the show tells us this via Cohle himself in episode one, when he says of his philosophy that he "sees [himself] as a realist." He's not choosing to see things in the worst light, he's seeing them as they are. This is reflected in some of his hallucinations, like the Carcosa spiral made by the birds near the wrecked church at the end of episode two. As Cohle says, "back then, the visions... most of the time I was convinced, shit, I'd lost it. There were other times... I thought I was mainlining the secret truth of the universe." In a Lovecraftian reality, what's the difference?

This ain't no kind of anything.

This ain't no kind of anything.

Once Reggie and DeWall Ladoux are done for in episode five, leaving Marty and Cohle to believe the case is closed, we see Cohle try to settle down and live a more or less normal life. His renowned ability to get confessions leads to the tip that the Yellow King is still out there, and this is all it takes to start Cohle's downward spiral going again. Over the next several episodes we see how he's ended up a seemingly dissolute bartender in 2012, but of course we also learn he's been working the case on his own. Episode seven introduces Cohle's conspiracy cave, as well as the video tape of Marie Fontenot's ritual murder, an artifact of both unspeakable horror and forbidden knowledge in its proof of the conspiracy's existence. Marty tells Cohle he shouldn't have the tape; Cohle agrees about its evil nature, responding "nobody should have this," but he also tells Marty he "won't avert [his] eyes." Cohle's seen further into the void than ever, and he knows there's no going back. Until seeing the tape, Marty wasn't exactly convinced; it's precisely this forbidden knowledge that let him and Marty tackle the Yellow King, in the same way that Professor Armitage had to learn more than he ever wanted to from the Necronomicon in order to deal with the elder Whately sibling in The Dunwich Horror

Gotta love a guy with a sense for interior design.

Gotta love a guy with a sense for interior design.

When Cohle and Marty arrive at Childress' farm for the climax in episode eight, Cohle immediately knows they're in the right place; he can recognize the taint, his "smelling the psychosphere." Childress, for his part, can recognize it too, calling Cohle "little priest" as he goads him on in the warrens of Carcosa. And, ultimately, that's exactly what Cohle has been; although he keeps "other bad men from the door," Cohle's philosophy of the universe is essentially the same as that of the Yellow King. He's only chosen to act differently based on that philosophy. And yet, after his vision of the spiral galaxy and the end of Childress, we're left with a very different Rust Cohle.

 

Spiral out, keep going.

Spiral out, keep going.

In the hospital, at first Cohle is dejected that the rest of the conspiracy is untouched (as is evident from the newscast that totally covers up any connection between the cult and the powerful Tuttle family). This is an issue that many viewers seemed to have too, but Marty tells all of us straight up: "that ain't what kind of world it is." Marty and Cohle have their small, personal victory over Childress, but that's all it is. There's no true winning here, no fixing what's wrong, because in a cosmic horror story it's reality itself that's wrong from our narrow human perspective. There's no way to change that status quo. Then, finally, there's the real meat of the ending: Cohle's monologue about feeling his daughter's love as he was dying, and his insistence at the end that Marty's "looking at the sky thing wrong." He tells us, "once there was only dark... You ask me, the light's winning." This is a statement totally in opposition to the Cohle we've come to know til now, one that seems to paint a rather sappy, discordant end to everything that's come before. I'd argue, though, that it's this contrast that is exactly the point. Cohle's flipped perspective here is showing us he's lost his pessimism, and with it his insight into the nature of reality. He's given up, whether by choice or because he finally had taken more than he could bear, and he's undergone a kind of anti-enlightenment into the affirmation-delivering mediocrity he'd spent the entire series deriding. Without the protective cocoon of this false hope, he'd be forced to acknowledge that their getting Childress and closing the case was ultimately meaningless, that the only thing their forbidden knowledge brought them was knowing first-hand just how evil their world is and how powerless they are in the face of it. We, the viewers, know this, and we're left to watch Cohle become a hopeful rube, the exact kind of deluded fool he despised. The old Cohle would likely have preferred to die than suffer this fate, but the new, optimistic Cohle can't even realize that. Despite the illusion of a relatively happy if atonal ending, what we really have is the only possible outcome besides death for the cosmic horror protagonist: The annihilation of his self and his understanding of his reality, the only thing he truly valued.