Elvis Costello once said, “You have 20 years to write your first album, and about six months to write your second.” Writer and director Sterlin Harjo’s “Reservation Dogs” aired its final episode almost precisely three years ago; it went out on top, hailed rightfully as one of the best and most important TV shows in American history. His sophomore series, “The Lowdown,” feels like it’s been in the works his whole life. Loosely based on the late Lee Roy Chapman, a journalist in Oklahoma (and a friend and colleague of Harjo’s) whose work reshaped Tulsa’s history, FX’s “The Lowdown” proves that in addition to being a master storyteller, Harjo is just as skilled at assembling an equally dynamite cast and crew who, together, have delivered one of 2025’s best new series.
Lee Raybon (Ethan Hawke) is many things. A father, the owner of Hoot Owl Books, an ex-husband, and a self-described “true-storian,” he has made it his business to poke into and write about the doings of Tulsa’s most powerful men. This regularly lands him in hot water, and his swashbuckling ways do not keep his nose in good kip or his eye unblackened for long. The rest of his time is spent sharing custody of his daughter, Francis (Ryan Kiera Armstrong), with his ex-wife, Samantha (Kaniehtiio Horn). Is Lee a good father? No. Does he love Francis? Yes. Does he often put her in danger and, disregarding the need to provide a stable, comfortable childhood, treat her more like a co-conspirator? Also yes.
When the death of Dale Washberg (the ever-reliable Tim Blake Nelson), the younger son of a wealthy Oklahoma family, is ruled a suicide, Lee doesn’t buy it. His rationale includes the fact that Dale’s brother Donald (Kyle MacLachlan), currently running for state governor, conveniently combines grieving in public with campaign stops, and seems to enjoy a close relationship with Dale’s wife Betty Jo (Jeanne Tripplehorn, doing outstanding work). Setting out to prove that Donald has ties to Tulsa’s neo-Nazi scene proves far more complicated than Lee bargained for, as he gets his ass kicked, his daughter threatened, and, weirdly, his mouth stuffed with paddlefish caviar. And that’s just the half of it.
Redolent with literary and philosophical references, “The Lowdown” is a raucous stylistic marriage between the Coen Brothers’ filmography and P.T. Anderson’s “Inherent Vice.” Every book—whether held in someone’s hand, referenced by a character, or visible in the shot—is a deliberate choice. (As a former bookshop employee of 10 years, I felt like Sterlin Harjo made this show just for me; multiple characters take time to knock each other’s literary taste, and pillory book organization methods, a rancorous subject for anyone who has sold books. I just about died laughing when someone deplores, “Pinter with Harry Potter?!”)
The production design is stellar—I can smell Lee’s vapes, the black coffee everyone downs at Sweet Emily’s diner. Interiors, though, can be sinister, and this realization builds over time. Lee’s decor, certainly, features classic conspiracy tropes, including notes, clippings, drawings, and photos, connected with text scribbled in red Sharpie. But the homes of the rich capitalists who are plundering Tulsa for their own benefit are their own crime scenes: stolen paintings, pamphlets, dead animals, all casually hung on walls. How much of a difference can one man make when the rich and powerful are comfortable leaving their crimes out in the open?
Alyssa Blair Cawthorn’s costume design is spectacular: you can practically feel the textures of the mixed prints and subtle sequins on an antique dealer’s ensembles; the rich, subtle denims and heavy turquoise jewelry for Betty Joe are exactly right, while Samantha is attired in more appropriate athleisure for a busy single mother. Lee’s unbroken stride is a funny counterpoint to a long line of stained, unbuttoned Western shirts, and it’s usually a matter of time before his ratty thrifted tees and “Saturday Night Fever pants” are splattered with blood.
But it isn’t just Cawthorn’s spot-on costumes or Brandon Tonner-Connolly and Andy Eklund’s lived-in production design that pull the viewer in. Casting director Angelique Midthunder assembles a veritable murderer’s row of supporting actors, including the brass-voiced Keith David, whose storyline in particular interrogates race and power in a humorous yet thought-provoking way. There’s also Tracy Letts, Scott Shepherd (“El Camino”), Josh Fadem (“Breaking Bad,” “Better Call Saul”), Tina Parker (ditto, both), Dale Dickey (“Vice Principals”); Abbie Cobbs steals every scene she’s in with diabolical dialogue delivery; Michael Hitchcock; Robert Peters and Tommy G. Hendrick bring a strange, winning blend of sincere thuggery to the proceedings, and lest I forget, the incomparable Peter Dinklage.
Though Horn, who helped “Reservation Dogs” achieve television transcendence as Deer Lady, doesn’t have a large role, she finds a gorgeous rhythm with Hawke, as Lee and Samantha silently acknowledge the sorrow of their broken bond, even though the former is determined to look to the future. At the same time, the latter tends to his wounds with tequila and karaoke.
As for Hawke, he leaves no stone unturned, no cylinder unfired. The doggedness with which Chapman dug up Tulsa’s past is something Hawke appears to have channeled with zero issue; the earnest, obstinate mania of his performance is yet another home run in his long and impressive career. Lee doesn’t know where he is headed. It is hilariously evident that his personal philosophies are a mess (e.g., he sports an “ironic” Confederate tattoo). Still, Hawke balances this with melancholy, a subtle anguish—especially tangible in scenes with Armstrong, who more than holds her own as his teen daughter—that is at the core of all that Lee does.
Adding to the richness of the text is the fact that Tripplehorn, Letts, and Nelson are all native Oklahomans. And no one is having more fun than MacLachlan, who has chosen this stage of his career to play charmers whose scumbaggery lurks just beneath the surface. It isn’t just that Midthunder assembled this cast. It’s that everyone in this cast has been given the correct part, and that every single performer was given the time and space to shine.
“The Lowdown” is unique in that, although its production values and writing are on par with a great film, its structure, which includes act breaks, combined with the vibrancy of its performances, helps the series to feel more like a novel rather than a TV show. It’s the first time since “Mad Men” that an ad/act break made me feel like I finished a chapter of a novel, and I couldn’t wait to turn the page to begin the next one.
And like “Mad Men,” “The Lowdown” does not bother to spell everything out for the viewer. Some in-jokes and references are for the characters to pass between themselves and for us to parse later, and that’s precisely why they feel real, and why we feel lucky to get to know them.
For all its humor—I’ve not belly-laughed like this during a series in quite some time; practically every line of dialogue is a comedic gem—“The Lowdown” never sacrifices its darkness, nor does it set aside laughs to land Big Dramatic Messages. It makes time to interrogate ideas big and small, like whether your race should play a role in the shit you’re willing to shovel for rich white men. Whether being a white man who cares is pathetic or noble or, worse, some doomed combination of both; and whether the only poetry worth reading is the kind scrawled on bathroom walls. Regardless of how you feel about poetry, come September 23, “The Lowdown” is possibly the only television show worth watching.
Five episodes screened for review. Episodes will be released weekly on Hulu.