When I reviewed the first season of Netflix’s  Devil May Cry , my expectations for the Studio Mir take on Capcom’s demon-hunting wahoo pizza himbo, Dante, swung from the dizzying heights of my favorite action hero character getting the Castlevania  treatment he deserves to the disorienting confusion of a lapsed Christian wandering through the empty pews of their childhood church. Charitably, creator Adi Shankar ‘s first season misreads almost everything that makes the video game series special. And yet, I was willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, partly because I was morbidly curious to see how season two would pick up its muddled metaphor about U.S. occupation and demon immigration with fan-favorite Vergil at the center of its thematic storm. Now that the second season is out, I’m confused all over again. Not about whether it’s a good adaptation—it isn’t, and spectacularly so. I’m confused about whether the whole thing is a Rube Goldberg-esque parody played straight.…