By Miriam R. Kramer

The TV show Dexter, adapted from Jeff Lindsay’s novel, Darkly Dreaming Dexter, is a story about a serial killer who kills serial killers. The series hit Showtime in 2006 and lasted seven years, breaking Showtime viewing records in the process. The show finale attracted 2.8 million viewers. This past week it was released on Netflix, exposing it to a huge audience that has already started to enjoy its blood, guts, and edgy humor.

Writer James Manos Jr. adapted most of the first season from Lindsay’s first book in his series about blood spatter analyst Dexter Morgan, who works for the Miami Metro Police Department with his sister, Debra, a police officer. The subsequent seven seasons veer away from the books.

Dexter was adopted as a toddler by Harry Morgan, a police officer. Realizing Dexter’s violent, sociopathic tendencies early while loving him, Harry attempts to find a way for him to maintain a prosocial, compartmentalized life without going to prison. This method also helps Dexter indulge his proclivities. The two avoid telling his sister anything about the system they devise.

As a veteran police officer, he teaches Dexter a method that he calls “the code.” The first rule is “Don’t get caught.” Next is verifying the guilt of serial murderers and others who slip through cracks in the justice system. He can never kill anyone who does not fit these criteria. Last comes tracking and killing the murderers while leaving no evidence. As a scientist, he takes his own trophies in the form of a drop of a victim’s blood on glass slides that he keeps in a box.

In the first season, Dexter and his sister become involved in the case of the Ice Truck Killer, someone who leaves his prostitute victims in pieces with no fingerprints or blood evidence. Dexter has found his serial-killing soul mate.

Viewers enjoyed this series in part because of its inside jokes and their knowledge of this everyman’s true nature. He calls his method of killing “taking out the trash.” By eliminating the scum that avoid punishment and continue their crimes, he justifies his vigilante murders. Dexter brings in donuts for his colleagues, a mild-mannered blood spatter analyst and a killer hiding in plain sight. Without knowing it, the department often works in tandem with him as he verifies murderers and tries to “take out the trash” before the police can arrest them.

Michael C. Hall delivers a subtle performance as the somehow sympathetic murderer who ponders his inability to share his inner self. His girlfriend, Rita, played by Julie Benz, is a woman with two kids who divorced an abusive husband. Benz delivers a superior performance as Rita, a sweet, tremulous woman who only wants a happy domestic life.

Like Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad or Bob Odenkirk in Better Call Saul, Hall makes an irresistible impression on viewers. Carrying a show and showing character development through eight seasons of action and introspection is no easy matter, and Hall’s deadpan, agreeable, but distant demeanor supports the perfect performance. While he must maintain less of a range of emotions for his specific character than the actors listed above, in many ways his portrayal is just as difficult.

That being said, sometimes I was bewildered by the uneven quality of other significant characters, and in particular the female ones. Jennifer Carpenter plays his sister, Debra, as an enthusiastic, foulmouthed police officer trying to advance in the department. Per the plotline she becomes a canny and instinctive leader. Carpenter’s character seems too grating, insecure, and emotionally incontinent, though, to be convincing in that role.

The police lieutenant Maria LaGuerta, a Cuban American played by Luna Lauren Velez, is a calculating political actor who wavers between supporting her department and making the moves that publicize her victories in Miami. Like Dexter, her ends often justify the means. I would like to see Velez in another production. She has little chance to show emotional complexity in this two-dimensional and unsympathetic harpy.

I begin to wonder if the show’s writers or showrunner were unable to portray women well. Most compelling shows are more consistent than this one. While these depictions do not spoil the series, they lessen its quality.

Other characters in the series, however, add personality and fun. Vince Masuka, played by C.S. Lee, is the chief forensics expert, a politically incorrect nerd who annoys his colleagues with off-color jokes. David Zayas plays Angel Batista, who along with Lieutenant LaGuerta adds Miami flavor to the proceedings as a Latinx actor. A good-natured detective, he helps keep the department together.

James Remar plays the dead Harry Morgan, with whom Dexter discusses his murders. He queries Dexter constantly about what he does and why he does it, adding a necessary dramatic construct for the show. As the series progresses, Dexter starts to question him back, rebelling against someone who taught him not to connect with other people.

Dexter often asks you to suspend your disbelief, and I often did. While there are holes in the plot, Dexter toys with society’s fascination with serial killers in an interesting fashion. It explores the notion of vigilante justice and how it compares with the justice system. The show also focuses on the strength of close sibling relationships in a moving way.

While Michael C. Hall makes Dexter convincing, most psychiatrists do not believe sociopaths can change or develop, which was a stumbling block for me. The show also jumped the shark in its later seasons.

That being said, Dexter as a character is realistic in a symbolic sense. His inscrutable, pleasant demeanor and vague answers to repeated questions about what he does and where he goes allow his family and friends to project their own insecurities and beliefs onto him. Many people can be strangers to those who spend the most time with them.