10 Ways "Dexter" Can Get Its Swag Back

So what if we sound petty with this complaint—enough is enough. We shrugged when first heard the phrase "dark passenger," referring to Dexter's deceased father (James Remar), back in Season Two. We winced after it worked its way into the regular dialogue rotation. Nowadays, though. we die a little every time its mentioned.

It's always been a stupid phrase, and this season it got even worse when the writers tried to double up its meaning. How is it that Dexter thinks killing Gellar (James Edward Olmos) will remove Travis's (Colin Hanks) "passenger"? That doesn't track with the way he's referred to his own over the years. While we're complaining about bad pseudonyms, let us all praise Brother Sam (Mos Def) that we never have to hear the acronym DDK (or Doomsday Killer) ever again.

Sometimes we feel like we remember the events of seasons past better than the actual characters. For instance, when Quinn (Desmond Harrington) is about to sleep with a murder investigation's person-of-interest, why wouldn't someone point out to him that one of his girlfriends was in league with one of the past season's villains? Why would Dexter leave Jamie (Aimee Garcia) and baby Harrison in his house even though he knows Travis has his wallet and keys? Does he remember how that turned out for Rita (Julie Benz)? Better question: Does anyone on this show actually remember Rita?

The list could go on and on. You could watch this season and never know that LaGuerta (Lauren Velez) and Batista (David Zayas) were married, or that Quinn knows Dexter murdered Peter Weller's character just last season. At the rate that this show forgets its own history, we wouldn't be surprised if next season begins with Dexter quickly tranquilizing Deb (Jennifer Carpenter), after she catches him killing Travis in his ritualistic manner, and her waking up thinking she had one beer too many.

Dexter has one of the least interesting supporting casts we've ever seen on a series. Besides Dexter himself, and, to an extent, Deb, everyone else is relegated to generic, tired subplots that only seem to exist because, well, Michael C. Hall can't be everywhere. For example, we've got no problem with Quinn, but the guy basically played out the same story beat in all 12 episdoes this season: Mope over Deb breaking his heart, drink too much, engage in meaningless sex, wake up in his car, and get yelled at by Batista. Wash, rinse, repeat.

The struggle to give the supporting cast members any juicy subplots is made even more difficult by having too many supporting characters to begin with. Nothing personal against Lauren Velez, but she's cashing main cast member checks to show up for ten minutes an episode. Instead of giving us the Deb vs. LaGuerta verbal-elevator-smackdown vignette each week, how much more interesting would it have been if she ended up in one of Travis's tableaus?

And speaking of which, how much safer can Dexter's producers play it than having Batista ready to die at Travis' hands only to be predictably rescued by Quinn? The cast could use some trimming, but more importantly some tension, as well. It's been awhile since anyone of major importance got in some real, genuinely suspenseful danger.

Last night's ending could make things very hard for Dexter in the future, and hopefully it does because it's been way too easy for this guy to live as a secret serial killer up until now. The murder of Rita might have initially seemed bold and daring, but as soon as Dexter shipped her two kids off, all her death really did was make it easier for dude to pursue his vice. His toddler son is still far from the age of noticing anything, and cute nanny Jamie is apparently the most understanding babysitter ever.

The most exciting thing about making Dexter a family man was that he had to answer for his whereabouts and his disappearances. This season, dude went to freaking North Dakota and more or less got away without anyone caring besides his clingy sister. Maybe it's time to skip forward a few years to get Harrison to an age where he's not too busy eating paste to notice that Dad sure is gone an awful lot.

If you didn't know that religion was going to be a major theme this season, you must have been sleeping, because from the season premiere onward the audience was smacked in the head with blatant, overwrought reminders. And then it was tattooed on the show's metaphysical forehead just for good measure. Even worse, the arc itself wasn't even handled gracefully. Mos Def did fine work as Brother Sam, but really, Dexter just adopts the dude's beliefs in a two-episode time frame? And his death makes Dex question the code, yet again? All they had was a couple of beers together!

It wasn't just religion, either. In case you didn't pick up on it already, we could almost hear the writers yelling, "Look! Travis and his sister kind of mirror Dex and Deb!" Or, "Hey, guys! Gellar/Travis and Brian/Dexter—see what we did there?! Clever, right?" A little subtlety goes a long way, folks.

Every season of Dexter so far has played out exactly the same. Dex wrestles with Harry's Code and strikes up a bond with a kindred spirit (someone with similar if not equal darkness), only for that person to turn on him and reveal themselves to be a far worse danger to society than he is.

We're so tired of seeing Dexter's internal struggle over Harry's Code. He either defies it only to realize he made a grave mistake, or he amends it to, say, let a guy like Miguel Prado (Jimmy Smits, from Season Three) in on the game and it turns around and bites him in the ass. How about next season Dexter stays secure about his ritual for a change? We know James Remar isn't going anywhere, so why waste time pretending he is?

Once upon a time, Dexter was a morally ambiguous character who was as unsettling as he was interesting, and his actions were often cast in a decidedly grey light. Then he became a doting suburban dad and he went from unsettling murderer to wacky, comical dad by day/serial killer by night. Simply put, we've gotten way too comfortable around a dude who routinely chops people up and dumps them in the ocean. The ambiguity is all but gone, and he's slowly going from antihero to just plain old hero, and that's not the show we signed up for.

Part of the blame is pitting him against antagonists that are too monstrous in their greater evil personas. It's hard to see Dex's own depravity reflected in two guys that want to end the world. We actually enjoyed the unfairly maligned fifth season, but let's be real: Dexter looked like an avenging angel when up against that year's horrific gang-rape brigade.

It's been a while since this show asked us if Dexter deserves to pay for his deeds. Having Deb finally catch Dexter in his murderous act should hopefully get us back to that core question.

In this great, Internet-sponsored era of hyper scrutinization, it's rare that a series actually pulls off a twist that no one legitimately saw coming. Over the years, many successful shows have risen to the challenge and delivered storylines that still packed an emotional punch whether you predicted the turn of events or not. Such programs are usually character-driven, though, and Dexter is a show that really only has one interesting character, making story and execution all the more crucial.

Unfortunately the writers seemed to think that discovering Gellar was dead and appearing to Travis in the same way that Harry appears to Dexter would be an ultimate, jaw-dropping game-changer of "holy shit" proportions. That big "shock" was revealed at the end of episode nine; most people had already guessed it by the midway point of episode two. And sadly, the surprise itself was all the twist was really predicated on. Whether you called it beforehand or not, the whole "Gellar is just in Travis' sick head" concept had no real effect on anything that came before or after it. It was simply dumb, and even worse, the drawn-out nature of it forced Dexter to behave idiotically.

What's more, it wasn't even a fair twist. Since its fourth season, Dexter has had a new showrunner every year, and the lack of clear vision shows, painfully. Up until this season, we're almost certain that we never observed Ghost Harry appearing to physically interact with anything. This season had Gellar touching objects left and right, and Ghost Brian was even shown "eating" while Dexter rested. Straighten out the rules of your universe, guys.

Speaking of audience manipulation, this whole Dexter and Deb reenact Clueless thing is an even bigger insult to our intelligence. We're not mad at the show for trying to tackle something as taboo as incest. Boardwalk Empire just pulled it off in fine form, and they did so by subtly dropping hints and building to it appropriately.

Yet, we have never ever, not once, gotten the inkling that Deb may have more than just sisterly love for her non-biological brother. What's that? They just thought of it this season, you say? OK, fine. Narrowing it down to just this season then, we still didn't see any evidence until it was forced down our throat. We're really hoping the familial, and now romantic, bond doesn't help the writers take the easy way out.

The show has been building to Deb learning about Dexter's serial killer hustle since day one, so read us loud and clear, producers: Deb cannot be cool with it by the end of, like, next season's premiere. Or decide to overlook his "dark passenger" just because she's in love with him.

The good folks at Dexter could choose to ignore all of our aforementioned points and still churn out two final decent seasons if they only follow this one last tip. Ever since Season Three, Dexter has largely built itself around the "special guest" of the year. Some of the weakest seasons have coasted by on good praise simply because the "Big Bad" was consistently entertaining.

Note that people tend to forget how much the middle of Dexter's fourth season lagged, all because John Lithgow's awesomely creepy turn as the Trinity Killer was unwaveringly a knockout. Or reflect back to the bait-and-switch of Season Three, which featured the lamest serial killer ever, The Skinner, but also featured Jimmy Smits' hilariously deranged, lispy, BFF-turned-adversary Miguel Prado.

But then look at Colin Hanks, pictured above trying his hardest to look evil. This season was doomed as soon as they placed the Big Bad weight on his scrawny, non-threatening shoulders. Mostly this season Hanks was dreadfully boring, or laughably cartoonish, or both. When we think back on John Lithgow, we remember child suffocation and women slain in bathtubs in cold blood. When we think back to Colin Hanks, we'll remember scenes like this.

Sadly, the great Edward James Olmos couldn't elevate the limp plot he was embroiled in, either. Dexter needs someone who can go toe-to-toe with Michael C. Hall, someone who's not afraid to do a little scenery-chewing. Don't be afraid to stunt cast, either, guys. The more incentives to watch, the better.