I was watching the penultimate episode of “Dexter” the other day . . . and I realized I didn’t care anymore. Like the hundreds of former fans trailing online “Dexter” stories with a kite tail of hate comments, I just want to see this one through to the end and get it off my DVR. At this point, I don’t care about Dexter’s fate any more than I care about who won the 26th season of “Survivor.” Which is to say, not at all.
And that’s a sad thing, because I once cared plenty about this Showtime series, which finishes its popular eight-season run on Sunday night. During its first four years, “Dexter” was the ultimate antihero drama, in a way, in a large pool of TV antiheroes. He was a man-child whose innocence was stunning; and then he was a coldly methodical murderer addicted to bloodletting. He was a superhero, meek by day and protecting the streets of Miami by night; and he was a supervillain for the exact same reason, a vigilante whose hubris and psychopathology brought him outside the law. Cool and watchful, Michael C. Hall made it all work together naturally.