Rust and Marty Enjoy Some KFC
The True Detectives Join the Colonel Club
INT. CAR – LUNCH – ESTABLISHING
RUST COHLE and MARTY HART are digging into the new KFC 18 Piece Family Special for $29.99. MARTY is eating quickly, rotating the drumstick as he bites off big chunks of chicken. RUST picks as his more gingerly, pulling off small bits of skin and meat with his fingers.
MARTY Bucket’s gonna go cold if you don’t pick up the pace.
RUST It’s already gone cold, they just warm it up.
MARTY Told you we shoulda got burgers.
RUST It’s all the same.
The two sit in silence for a moment. RUST picks at the last bit of skin and meat leaving only a small, greasy bone which he turns over in his hands. MARTY observes the behavior, sets his drumstick aside, and wipes his mouth clean.
MARTY Something ’bout the case?
RUST Yes and no.
MARTY What’s that supposed to mean?
RUST What do you think the most powerful emotion is, Marty?
MARTY seems taken aback by the question and chews his lip in thought.
MARTY Love? Fear? Hate? I don’t know Rust there’s a lot of ’em.
RUST It’s obsession. At the center of love, at the base of hate, what drives a man to insanity is obsession. Whoever killed Dora Lange, you can bet they were obsessed. If not with her, then with something else. Rituals. Demons. Death.
RUST Maybe. But when I look at the body of Miss Lange and this bucket here, all I see is the product of the same thing.
MARTY You’re losing me Rust and I don’t think I care enough to follow.
RUST Look here, this face, frozen in time. What drives a man to devote his life to fried chicken, to pursue something with all his conviction and being to the point where he becomes an icon, a figurehead for all things poultry? It’s obsession, and not the healthy kind. If there’s such a thing.
MARTY What, Colonel Sanders was fucking chickens out back before he cooked ’em, is that what you think? Look, we’re all a little obsessed over something, doesn’t mean we’re all psychos.
RUST I think we’re all just one bad day away from becoming psychopaths, Marty. But the Lange killer and the Colonel, they weren’t just after blood. They were obsessed with something more.
MARTY I’m almost afraid to ask.
RUST Eternal life. Immorality. The greatest lie ever told. Maybe the guy who killed Miss Lange thinks sacrifices or drinking the blood of virgins will be his quick ticket to long life. Colonel Sanders, he thought he knew where to find it– stamped on every bucket from here to China.
MARTY Yeah, until someone else makes some better chicken.
RUST How could they? There must be a million little fried chicken joints all across this state and beyond, but KFC… there’s no single KFC store, no place to get the real KFC. Kentucky Fried Chicken is an idea, a virus that infects the mind as well as the tastebuds, and Colonel Sanders is a part of that DNA as much as the chicken.
MARTY Well it’s good chicken, you know, herbs and spices or whatever.
RUST The secret blend? It’s an illusion. Wool pulled over your eyes. There’s no such thing, never was.
MARTY Well they must be doing something right.
RUST These little mom and pop shops, they go out, buy their chicken, cut and cook it themselves. But KFC, they got factories, miles of chicken, whole labyrinths of them, squeezed into wire cages, hung from ceilings by their necks, their eyes wide and fearful, but unable to comprehend the scale of it. How finite their time really is. They fatten them up and mulch the whole thing. Feather, meat, bone. Spit it out as a sludge you can barely even call food.
MARTY shakes his head and looks out the window for a brief moment. His gaze returns to the bucket of chicken and we get a slow pan-in shot of the pile of crisp, slightly brown pile of meat.
RUST And the biggest joke of it all. Of obsession, eternal life. Here we are eating some chicken, while the universe eats us.
MARTY You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? Why’d we even get a bucket if it’s such a thing for you. RUST picks up a drumstick and rips off a massive chunk with his teeth, speaking with his mouth full.
RUST I like KFC.