What Reservation Dogs taught us about great TV
The show, a masterclass in tonal balance, reminded us that the best small-screen storytelling still comes from a place of playful collaboration
TV Features Reservation Dogs
[Editor’s note: This piece contains spoilers of Reservation Dogs’ series finale.]
It’s fitting that the series finale of Reservation Dogs (“Dig,” written by Sterlin Harjo and Chad Charlie) is a community-driven sendoff. On the occasion of Old Man Fixico’s death, the episode finds the project’s central characters—the four teens who give the show its title—joining their elders in giving this most esteemed member of their community the funeral he deserves. And it’s hard not to see the installment as a gesture to the very spirit—the very core—of what this critically acclaimed series is really about. After all, the episode stresses the strong sense of intergenerational community that characterized Reservation Dogs throughout its three-season run—both in front of the camera and behind it.
When I interviewed Blackhorse Lowe, the director responsible for episodes like “Uncle Brownie” in season one and, more recently, the ’70s-set “House Made Of Bongs,” I asked him what it was about his experience on Reservation Dogs that he would most fondly look back on. He was unequivocal. “The sense of family is the big thing,” he told me. “I have to say that the community there and especially the filmmaking community in Tulsa, Oklahoma, is just so tight; everyone really knows one another. Everyone hangs out with one another, and connects with one another, drinks with one another, smokes weed with one another—it was just very much a family environment. You really don’t get to live an experience like that on other sets.”
Lowe’s words feel like the fulfilled promise of what Harjo and co-creator Taiki Waititi had first envisioned for the show. Speaking with The New York Times ahead of its premiere back in 2021, Harjo shared how unbelievable it had felt to be able to build a Native show from the ground up with an all-Indigenous writers’ room—not to mention a stacked ensemble cast that included both newcomers like Lane Factor (scene-stealing as the wryly sardonic Cheese) as well as veterans long overdue for recognition like Zahn McClarnon (hilarious as Officer Big).
“Our communities are filled with amazing talented people,” he told The Times. “But we are the descendants of people who survived genocide, forced removal and displacement, so we don’t leave home as easily as others. We don’t just go to L.A. and say, ‘I’m going to be an actor.’ So you have to find those people.”
And find them he did. Reservation Dogs—like Rutherford Falls and Spirit Rangers—now stands as a prime example of a new crop of shows that have helped put Native talent front and center. And the series did so by embracing the expansiveness of its own storytelling. At times a genre-aping farce that cheekily nodded to pop culture (see, for instance, the show’s title) and at others a probing if still witty examination of Native trauma in residential schools (as in season three’s excellent “Deer Lady”), and always playing around with all kinds of storylines throughout its three-season run, Reservation Dogs never felt constricted by its own premise.
Instead, the show used Bear, Elora, Willie Jack, and Cheese as centrifugal narrative forces that let its many writers plumb, with humor and heart, the many issues, big and small, that afflict Native communities today. And it did it all while winking at its audience with a cutting comedic sensibility owed in no small part to the 1491s, the Native sketch-comedy group whose members (including Harjo, Dallas Goldtooth, Migizi Pensoneau, Ryan RedCorn, and Bobby Wilson) played key roles in making the show.
The tricky tonal balance Reservation Dogs deftly toed on any given episode remains, perhaps, the show’s greatest achievement. This was a series that in its final episode, for instance, found time between melancholy reminiscences about a late elder to make eggplant-related sex jokes, not to mention a killer burner account social media quip courtesy of its hapless spirit. And it handily did so because it trusted its many collaborators; the show knew when to deploy the likes of Lily Gladstone (or Ethan Hawke!) to full effect, and when to, for instance, further nurture its own, creating a welcome pipeline for folks like Lowe, who have gotten a chance to make their mark on a now Peabody award-winning show.
It truly took a village.
And therein lay the very message of the show in a nutshell. The wayward ways of Bear (D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai), who for much of the series struggled with finding his path following the loss of his friend Daniel, concluded with a lesson as simple as it is powerful. “I learned that I don’t got to be the only leader,” Bear tells William Knifeman (Goldtooth) in the final moments they share together in the finale. “That I’m from an amazing community and I’m just proud to be a part of it!”
He may as well be talking for every member of the cast and crew who were involved in the series. At a time when auteurist television continues to be celebrated, Reservation Dogs serves as a reminder that the best long-form storytelling on the small screen still comes from a place of playful collaboration. It’s a message that feels all the more timely given the historic WGA strike this year. It is only through community, through the bonds one forges with those like (and unlike) themselves, that action and artistry flourish.
Against the rugged individualism of late-stage capitalism, the Rez Dogs have stood for a different kind of future made possible by embracing a collectivity that doesn’t sand down edges but that celebrates everyone’s various talents. To quote a lyric from the song featured in that final episode, “We’ve got to trust each other blindly / Only then will we have eyes to see.”
Rather than be wistful about Reservation Dogs ending, “Dig” encourages us to look forward (even as we’re nudged to acknowledge the past). The actual final line of the show, the one Harjo and his cast and crew leave us with, is “Till the next one.” The characters are talking about the next funeral they’ll have to oversee. But it’s hard not to hear in those words a metafictional plea for the chance for other shows to similarly get not just their chance but their flowers. Trailblazing as it may have been, Reservation Dogs knows it doesn’t stand alone nor on its own. It stands on the shoulders of those who came before it and those it came up alongside. Here’s hoping there’ll be many more like it in the future. Till the next one!
23 Comments
Do they usually make physical media releases for these series? I feel like I have to buy this one so I’m not at risk of losing it for the streaming services
Great tv these days; 3 seasons of 8-10 episodes then gone. It is more like the miniseries of old.
Do you think that’s a symptom or a cause?
Not sure. I get that there is something easier about creating 24-30 episodes of great tv vs the old days of 13-21 episodes. I would bet it is more about profits for studios and streaming platforms and not having to pay actors and writers than creating great art. It is not like all the full sept-may full season tv shows sucked. I have memories of watching TV as far back as the early 1970s. Tv was good and bad. TV today reminds me more of miniseries like Roots and the other big miniseries of the 70-80s
Alternate view (notice…I didn’t say correct…just a thought). Before streaming…the goal of many shows was to continue to exist. Everyone sat and watched the weekly episode of Friends or Seinfeld…or whatever. If the particular episode was mediocre…whatever. We were all going to watch the next episode. Then came The Wire. There were 5 stories to tell. And it ended. People were like…WTF?! More please. But the show wasn’t designed to perpetuate itself. It told a story and was done. No bloat. No fluff. Once streaming took hold, perhaps the focus turned to an approach closer to The Wire’s approach in order to deliver a quality package. So imagine Reservation Dog’s had twice the number of episodes but the only “good” episodes were the episodes we have now in reality. I suspect the acclaim and buzz for the show in the hypothetical “double episodes” scenario might be less. I have a potential example to illustrate this opinion. Later seasons of Arrested Development probably could and should have had fewer and shorter episodes. In reality there are probably a number of reasons for why current shows have fewer episodes. Curious to hear what people think about viewpoint above though (and again…I could be 100% off there…just a thought).
Part of my issue is that I want more. yes there was mediocrity but at least it was new content. I want more tv to watch. Not just 8 episodes of a good show every 2 years. Sure what is there is great but there is so little of it and I do not want to spend my tv time and streaming money on stuff I saw before years or decades before.
Definitely agree with that. I want more too. But man we do not seem to get that these days. By the way, you should check out Letterkenny and Shoresy if you haven’t already. Different but similarly good.
Letterkenny kida petered out for me, lost interest. I will keep looking.
I agree about Letterkenny and Shoresy… however Letterkenny seems to be running out of steam after 11 seasons, imo.
I just want more of the shows I love. Finishing a show I’ve been waiting over a year to see in 8 episodes really pisses me off. Eight episodes every 12-18 months? Really? Such bullshit.
There’s also the aspect of more Americans watching TV and media from other countries. Once I got hooked on foreign series, often with a beginning middle and end, just like any normal story-based media, I really couldn’t return to American shows that just treaded indefinite water. Story arcs are nice!
The Good Place summed it up;“There’s something so human about taking something and ruining it a little so you can have more of it.”I’d rather have several seasons of a good show(Reservation Dogs, The Good Place) than nine or more seasons of mediocrity (Friends, The Office).
“Before streaming…the goal of many shows was to continue to exist.”You are wrong dude. The reason for the length of seasons was syndication. You need a certain number of shows in order to get syndication money. The reason then as it is now is MONEY. They don’t care as much about syndication right now because of streaming. They can move a show from platform to platform in many countries and make money that way instead of making longer seasons to get to syndication. Shows make hundreds of millions of dollars once they go into syndication.I don’t know if in reality the streaming ends up giving them the same kind of money as syndication but with these greedy people having the bottom line show they are spending less money on the production end to get product is also a top goal and that keeps the boardroom happy as well.
I remember people always talking about how British TV was better, because they did short seasons and the shows had endings. Now we do it here. I’m sure it is about profits to a certain degree, but it’s probably easier to ensure quality when you don’t have to ensure quantity.
Some of it stems from Lost and the writers strike that happened in 2007. The show was kind of spinning its wheels and after the strike they negotiated a fixed smaller amount of episodes and number of seasons so they could tell the story and not have it drag on forever. Some shows are easy to keep going, others need a fixed timeline.
It’s a symptom of greed. Longer shows absolutely require a writers room, you can’t get 20-22 great to decent eps out of four writers. Longer shows are a training ground for new writers to develop their skills. Shows like How To Get Away With Murder came out of Shonda Rhimes writers room. On multi camera comedies like Big Bang Theory with their long season there is also a writers room where new writers get trained.
The shorter shows tend to have few writers and might have a writing assistant who is learning, or they might not. The people at the top don’t care about process, they only care about what expense they can cut out in order to send more money to the boardroom, that is the criteria for every decision made in Hollywood. They do not take into account any other effect except profit.
I’m a little confused about what you’re trying to say. I think you’re implying that good shows don’t make money (you cited two lame network shows that did make money), so they get shorter seasons and less writers. Is that right?
A true outlier in today’s ‘bigger is better’ world of entertainment. Simple, heartfelt and real stories about characters you come to care about. This show will stick with me for a long time.
It’s a really good show and I think had more left in the tank. They are all probably getting pretty good offers to move onto other stuff though, and I hope it leads to more roles for the whole cast.
-Jeez if they wanted to make me cry just poke me in the eye with a sharp stick-I was beginning to think we weren’t going to see the Spirit Guide again, AHO!-My favorite line from season 3: “It’s called probably cause.”
I am convinced that this was a perfect television show.
I’m gonna miss the hell out of this show. It was so unbelievably good and heart wrenching and subtle and outrageous. Always a treat.