Reservation Dogs premieres, with two episodes, on Monday, Aug. 9 on FX on Hulu.
Reservation Dogs, from creator Sterlin Harjo and executive producer Taika Waititi (who also co-wrote the first episode), is an enjoyable comedy that gives us a pleasant and lackadaisical hang on an Oklahoman Native American Reservation. It's an unfortunately underrepresented setting and culture for mainstream Hollywood storytelling, and the series approaches it with a unique and quirky charm, while still making it relatable and funnily familiar.
The lead quartet, the titular "Reservation Dogs" (who do get their moniker from Reservoir Dogs), are a low-key delight, existing in a swirling state of boredom and frustration on the Res, so much so that they engage in light crime (theft, vandalism, what have you) to both pass the time and earn money for a hypothetical "someday" escape. Their transgressions and hustles are small, and portrayed in a way that makes all four of them silly and likeable, but there's a sense that their community pain — which stems from poverty, prejudice, and addiction — is very real, and that helps give the show invisible stakes. What may be shocking to us is very matter-of-fact for them, so Reservation Dogs, through the lens of humor, gives us a clever close-up into this world.
As Bear, D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Ta gives us a gloriously conflicted teen who wants to simultaneously fit in but also do right, which doesn't come easy. As the member of the Dogs who actively feels guilt over, basically, stealing from and scamming his own people, Bear is our in, as viewers, to the group as he tries to walk a line between good and "let's get the f*** outta here." What Bear cares about most are the people in his life, while the hilariously named Elora Danan (aka the baby in 1988's Willow), played by Devery Jacobs (American Gods), is a much harsher type of loyal, driven by an intense need to flee her surroundings as quickly as possible.
With Paulina Alexis' gangster-tough Willie Jack and Lane Factor's joyfully bumbling Cheese rambunctiously rounding things out, this show's core crew is wonderful, and the series itself nicely, and notably, comes to us from a new voice. As a producer, Waititi isn't giving us the loud and bold style that we've come to expect from the "Thor: Ragnarok" director. He's amplified the vision and more timid tonal stylings of Harjo, who serves as creator/showrunner. In the premiere, "F*ckin’ Rez Dogs," we meet the Dogs as they unintentionally start a beef with a new, more violent crew on the Res looking to exert their dominance. The underlying problem is that the Dogs aren't out to rule the roost, or even act like a gang at all, but they're targeted simply for being a minor crooks constantly looking for way to make a buck.
The second episode, "NDN Clinic," serves as a better example for the show as a leisurely and mirthful mingle, as Bear takes a trip to the Res' under-supplied medical clinic, containing one doctor (Bobby Lee) who's tasked with treating everything, and the other three Dogs just, you know, sort of make a day of it. It's here that the series embodies something like an Atlanta or a Letterkenny, where the characters themselves, and the show's unorthodox tone, are the reasons for tuning in. The Res Dogs even come with their own shorthand lingo, like "skodan" (let's go then) and "stoodis" (let's do this), that help fill out the world of the show a bit more and give it a lived-in casualness that's fun to watch.
Reservation Dogs features characters we like, a community we're drawn too (and may be curious about), and a tone that teeters between malaise, mischief, and mysticism. It's not quite laugh-out-loud funny, so the dryness might be a hinderance at times, but it's a special combo that works an easygoing bum-around-the-block tale with a sprinkle of sadness, a dusting of danger, and a wry smirk.