By Matt Zoller Seitz
There is really no such thing as privacy in Deadwood, much less secrets. The title town is a public stage on which each citizen presents himself as a kind of real-life character—a carefully constructed façade meant to conceal their weaknesses, hypocrisies and blind spots. But sooner or later, often during a high-stakes moment, they discover the awful truth: Pretty much everyone sees through them; the façade is made of cellophane. Their self-made character is just an agreed-upon lie, and as soon as another person decides to stop believing it, the truth stands revealed in all its naked frailty.
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