Stars: Michael C. Hall, Jennifer Carpenter, James Remar, Colin Hanks, Edward James Olmos, Mos Def, Desmond Harrington, David Zayas, Lauren Velez, C.S. Lee, Billy Brown
Watching Dexter’s excruciating sixth season was much like going home with an ugly, celibate woman after a drunken night out: We knew it’d be tough to look at the entire time and end in unfulfilled disappointment, but we couldn’t resist trying anyway.
Before the Showtime series began its latest run, expectations were incredibly low; after last year’s underwhelming batch of episodes, it became clear that Dexter had run its narrative course. But the notion of introducing religion into the well-meaning serial killer’s (Michael C. Hall) life led us to believe that Season Six could make us care once again. Alas, now that it’s over, we’re even angrier than before.
Per usual, every character not named Dexter or Deb (Jennifer Carpenter) did nothing but distract with all of their painful melodrama (Get laid, Captain LaGuerta!) and throwaway conflicts (someone needs to kill Quinn already). Not that the newer ones were any better; if someone can explain what Mos Def’s purpose was on Dexter this year, we’ll give you the Ice Truck Killer’s preserved hand. Even worse, the show’s producers thought so little of the audience’s intelligence that this year’s central villain, the god-fearing Travis Marshall (a completely miscast Colin Hanks), brought with him the world’s most obvious twist.
How bad was Dexter? Put it this way: The moment we’ve all been waiting for after six years, Deb’s discovering of her brother’s killer side hustle, finally happened, but all we could dispassionately mutter was, in the spirit of potty-mouthed Deb, “Who gives a fuck-ball?”