3 out of 5

Created by: Graham Roland

covers seasons 1 and 2

A show of many Almosts, that nicely stack positively upon one another, but still ultimately succumb to subplotting heavy-handedness that feels common to many AMC shows.

Based on Tony Hillerman’s Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee mystery novels, Dark Winds gives us the origin story of the police partners, with Navajo Tribal Police officer Leaphorn (Zahn McClarnon) training up his new deputy, Chee, in the 1970s Four Corners area. But before that, we get an opening that sets the stage: a titlecard telling us of the era; and the upfront action of a bankcar robbery by helicopter, and then the subsequent crash of that helicopter. Flash forward to the present, and Leaphorn is investigating a grisly murder, reporting his findings to the FBI (represented by a lovably smarmy Noah Emmerich) shuffling responsibilities between Chee and his sergeant, Bernadette (Jessica Matten), while events concerning that robbery, that murder – and perhaps even the past death of his son in a mining accident – all seem to be slowly relating to one another. In season two, ramifications from this stretch out even further, though we see the general m.o. the show would follow in subsequent seasons: of taking one or two Hillerman books, determining a central case, and making that the six-to-eight episode focus.

While Dark Winds initially drew some flack for its fuzzy cultural depictions – despite having a fully Native American writers’ room – there’s mostly an appreciative and “realistic” balance at play with the locals’ reverences for tradition, but varying levels of true belief in those traditions, and this is used to support some ongoing themes of history’s repeats, loyalty, and the moldable nature of such beliefs. That said, part of the aforementioned heavy-handedness is a mystical subplot in the first season, which largely feels shoved into the show, and is often played for fake tension; showrunners then overcorrect for this with “grit” in the second season’s introduction of a Chigurh-like killer. In both cases, the series hits its main roadblock: stapling on escalation.

I’m sure much of this is in the books, but regardless, with a tight season length and a generally slow-paced tone, the action feels a little panicked when it happens, resulting in clunky, tensionless execution that’s perhaps further limited by a budget which – totally guessing – maybe mainly goes towards locations, and keeping several principle cast members in rotation. The door kind of swings both ways, unfortunately, as the writers try to push on the material for deeper contemplations on race relations, and how-the-70s-ain’t-so-different-to-today, and despite some excellent actors in two – McClarnon and Matten in particular – a lot of the cast ends up feeling a bit stiff, as though uncertain of the exact vibe: if it’s small town humor, or weighty drama, or twisty-turny action. This results in the inclusion of an offputtingly goofy Rainn Wilson, or a nigh-wasted A Martinez, choosing to solve the vibe quandry by acting without any inflection.

These are the “Almost” qualities, where the show verges on being really, really good, but either shyly or just unwisely veers away. As a topdown representation of this, while the Southwest setting of the show, and its main locations – the police station; Leaphorn’s home – feel very real, and lived in, breathing with the local weather and a sense of history, if you missed the opening title card telling you it was the 70s, you could be forgiven for figuring this to be a modern story, where maybe cell phones just don’t work out here, and people wear rather plain clothes and drive functional cars. It’s not that Dark Winds needs to be steeped in its era’s accoutrements in order to be effective, it’s more just evidence of how the show includes something as part of its makeup, but neither commits to it, or makes it feel necessary to the proceedings.