Creepy and strange goings-on keep the cliffhangers coming.
Why are small towns so damn freaky? Being a city boy, not much scares me more than a sign declaring something like 'Population: 276'.
Sure, here in the city we have our own problems - real estate should be renamed WTF estate, traffic flow doesn't and you can't walk aroundwithout being accosted by a forcibly cheerful charity chugger thrusting a collection bucket at you.
There's crime too. But at least you know where you stand with a wild-eyed, frothing P-head; as far away as possible.
I know what's going on in the city, is what I'm saying. Small towns ... not so much. Everyone's emphatically welcoming. Determinedly jolly. Malevolently nice. It seems shifty. What are they up to? What are they hiding? What's going on?
These are the exact same questions posed in The Zone's new mystery/thriller series Wayward Pines.
The show stars Matt Dillon as Secret Service agent Ethan Burke who, after a terrible car accident, wakes up in the Wayward Pines hospital. It quickly becomes apparent that something damn freaky is going on in this small town. But what?
That's the big question at the heart of the series. Its success hinges completely on how badly you want to find out.
Shows like Extant, The Leftovers, The Returned and Under the Dome are recent stabs at creating this sort of intriguing, compelling telly. But each of them squandered their promise by needlessly stretching their secrets out, piling question upon question and withholding even the merest hint of an answer.
These dismal attempts at prolonging interest quickly aged until finally there was only one question I wanted answered: Why am I watching this? Failing to find a satisfactory answer, I stopped.
Wayward Pines differs, after two episodes anyway, in not being afraid to let peeks of light penetrate the black of its mystery. It lets you in and then leaves you hanging. I've learnt a lot about the place but still know nothing. I want to know more. I want to know what the devil is going on. In that regard, it's quite brilliant.
This could be down to the influence of one-time wunderkind director but now cinematic punchline, M. Night Shyamalan. He is heavily involved, even getting behind the camera for the first episode.
Before roasting his reputation with a feast of filmic turkeys the dude was a twisty, turny, suspense-creating genius. The mastery displayed in early flicks The Sixth Sense and Unbreakable can't be denied. But neither can the outright suckiness of After Earth, The Last Airbender and The Lady in the Water. Perhaps this show marks the beginning of his redemption?
That may seem the sort of unlikely plot twist that Shyamalan once excelled at, but I think there's some truth to it.
Under his direction small town strangeness seeps out of every scene. The place is fuzzy, disorienting and ambiguously unsettling. Its perfect appearance perverting the fact that something is obviously not quite right.
"There's no crickets in Wayward Pines," Ethan gets told by the one person who appears to be on his side, a barmaid named Beverly.
It's this sort of specific peculiarity that the show does extremely well. It draws you in. Especially when you're positive you've just heard crickets chirping away in the previous scenes. It's also somewhat refreshing to have the mystery partially answered as soon as Ethan leaves the bar. Even if that answer only leads to more questions.
Following the stellar example set by Fargo and True Detective the show has some serious heavy hitters in its cast. Dillon is great in the lead as the groggily determined Ethan, who as well as trying to piece together what the hell's going on may also be suffering from a brain haemorrhage that's causing delusionary hallucinations. He's joined by Juliette Lewis' sympathetic barmaid, Terrence Howard's icecream eatin' sheriff and Oscar winner Melissa Leo's chillingly creepy nurse. It is the very definition of all-star cast with each selling the eccentricity of their character without overdoing it.
At times Wayward Pines feels like a mash-up of David Lynch's hauntingly strange masterpiece Twin Peaks, the reality show premonition of Peter Weir's excellent film The Truman Show and the suffocating eternity promised in the Eagles' signature tune Hotel California.
