There's plenty to like here. And for a few episodes, it looks like "Mare of Eastown" actually has something to offer outside of clunky whodunnit clichés. Mare's casual trauma makes her a cool candidate for the cynical life of a murder police, and her fear of her own illness hangs over everything. But after a while, you realize the show isn't really interested in the filial complexities it flexes in the opening hours - and queerly, it doesn't seem particularly interested in the murder at the center of the narrative. By its midway point, the series feels more like a weaker entry into "True Detective" than it does a fresh deconstruction of crime drama clichés. The show feigns compassion for its characters by way of a lot of sobbing and screaming and tired therapy scenes - none of which end up being very deep or interesting outside of Winslet's flat petulant line readings. Instead, the narrative is cluttered with ridiculous plot twists and filler.

There isn't much left in the tank for the show's closing arguments. It sputters and meanders through multiple clumsy stunts and ample bloodshed. Ultimately, you start to question which narrative threads were supposed to land and which were window dressing to the thin plot. For all of its grandstanding, the death of a teenage girl doesn't count for much. The performances can't overcome yet another hollow entry into HBO's "dysfunctional family of the month" sweepstakes. The winners here are Smart and Pierce, making the most out of their screentime and easily the only two characters that register as decently banal - no secrets, no fuss.