It likely won’t be for everyone: The series’ first two hours, in particular, are almost unbearably bleak, and its deliberate pacing and austere visual style lack the more sensationalist and showier trappings of noir-ish HBO hits like True Detective and Sharp Objects. Like the book on which it’s based, it’s both a whodunit that confounds all rationality and a ghost story that unfolds like a police procedural. HBO’s The Outsider, a darkly engrossing 10-part series based on Stephen King’s bestselling novel of the same name and adapted for television by Richard Price, is a horror show dressed up as a detective show, or maybe the other way around. It Is Long Past Time to Retire the Oldest, Dumbest Debate in Literary History How Plausible Is Succession’s Election Nightmare? Who’s Really to Blame for Philadelphia’s Latest Faceplant?
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