In the grand tradition of Elmore Leonard, Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Carl Hiaasen, the Coen Brothers, and the raw and rugged Jim Thompson novels its hero loves so dearly, The Lowdown spins a tangled noir yarn.
Here, there are dishonest cops, clumsy skinheads, shady land developers, wacko Native American gangsters, recovering-alcoholic hitmen, two-timing wives, sloppy lawyers, precocious adolescent sleuths, nefarious politicians, and a disreputable and dogged bookstore owner/crusading journalist who’s determined to get to the bottom of a murderous conspiracy.
The brainchild of Reservation Dogs creator Sterlin Harjo, FX’s eight-part series, premiering Sept. 23, is a wild and woolly Oklahoma affair, led by Ethan Hawke in a performance that—arriving weeks before his tour-de-force turn in Richard Linklater’s Blue Moon—proves his second unmitigated triumph of 2025.
Fast, funny, clever, and imbued with an old-school paperback crime fiction spirit, it’s an exceptional work of pulp poetry, and the year’s best new show.
Lee Raybon (Hawke) is the scruffy proprietor of Hoot Owl Books and a writer for the “long-form magazine” Heartland Press, and as he tells Akron Construction bigwig Frank (Tracy Letts)—during a get-together that involves accusations of questionable property purchases and Lee surreptitiously stealing a valuable painting—he considers himself a “truth-storian.”
Frank admits that Lee has “big balls” but those cajónes have gotten him in hot water courtesy of an article about Tulsa’s powerful Washberg clan, whom he’s accused of being crooked. Unsurprisingly, this piece has ruffled countless feathers, including those of the Washberg’s favorite son Donald (Kyle MacLachlan), who’s running for governor. More troublesome, in the aftermath of its publication, Donald’s black-sheep brother Dale (Tim Blake Nelson) dies in his office of an apparent suicide that many are quick to blame on Lee’s hit piece.
Sporting a wide-brimmed hat, dark sunglasses, a scruffy goatee, and outfits that look like they haven’t been washed in days (which also describes their wearer)—and driving a white “pedo” van for which he takes regular ridicule—Lee is a ragamuffin champion of the little man. Hawke infuses him with traces of The Long Goodbye’s Philip Marlowe, The Big Lebowski’s Dude, and The Nice Guys’ Holland March (to name a few) while simultaneously giving him a vibrant, wiseass attitude all his own.
Whether he’s donning unconvincing disguises, chasing his hat after it’s blown off his head by the wind, or casually pulling a c-note or joint out of his cowboy boot (the latter of which he’s comfortable putting out on his tongue), he’s a comic creation par excellence. Better still, he’s a knockabout idealist whose intentions (and heart) are as pure as his behavior (and decision-making) is messy. Hawke is so consistently amusing and endearing in the role that, 20 minutes into the premiere, he’s already more engaging than 95 percent of his television brethren.
At Dale’s estate sale, Lee runs into his antiques-dealer buddy Ray (Michael Hitchcock), flirty realtor Vicky (Abbie Cobb), and Dale’s former rodeo-queen widow Betty Jo (Jeanne Tripplehorn). Before he’s unceremoniously booted from the premises (without the first editions of Savage Night and After Dark, My Sweet that he covets), he gets ahold of one novel that, lo and behold, boasts a handwritten note from Dale.
This missive suggests that Dale knew someone was going to do him in, and cautions, “Don’t trust any of them. Even my wife. She’s a part of it.” It also indicates that his library’s books house additional letters that tell his entire sordid tale—motivating Lee to devise a means of acquiring the dead man’s collection.
This is merely the tip of the iceberg for Lee, whose snooping leads him to believe that Dale’s demise is related to an elaborate plot being perpetrated by Donald and his Akron Construction buddies, who are connected to a couple of dim-witted white supremacists who aren’t happy about being outed as such by Lee in the Heartland Press.
No matter which way it turns, The Lowdown finds a hilariously colorful character, be it Macon Blair’s disheveled attorney Dan (whose office is next door to Hoot Owl Books), Scott Shepherd’s menacing fixer Allen, Killer Mike’s trashy newspaper publisher Cyrus, or Keith David’s enigmatic P.I. Marty, who has long-standing ties with Donald.
Even those closest to Lee are a winningly distinctive bunch: compassionate ex-wife Samantha (Kaniehtiio Horn); acerbic employee Deidra (Siena East); clownish security chief Waylon (a scene-stealing Cody Lightning); and loyal and brave daughter Francis (Ryan Kiera Armstrong), who repeatedly weasels her way into her dad’s investigation, not least of which because she wants to protect him.
The Lowdown is overflowing with personality, and Harjo’s writing is so wily and witty that the action’s comedic verve never flags. Lee’s quest mires him in all sorts of trouble and, with it, harebrained schemes designed to shine a light on the city’s clandestine corruption, and the series’ twists and turns are as surprising and humorous as its hero is charmingly shaggy.
Lee is virtuous and rakish, altruistic and selfish, cunning and clumsy, and shrewd and reckless, and in Hawke’s expert hands, his contradictions feel like natural bedfellows. He’s a good guy who isn’t afraid to be bad, and throughout the course of his odyssey, his mixture of sincerity and sneakiness land him in and out of hot water with an assortment of adversaries, from would-be assassins and on-the-take police officers to a houseboat-residing “witch” and the backwoods caviar merchants she’s spurned.
Hustling to scrape by while fighting the powers that be and searching for a bombshell that will validate him and his cause (and, maybe, result in a reunion with his ex), Lee is a jazzy country hipster shamus who’s never less than a likable riot. The same is true of the story’s secondary figures, whom Harjo gifts with unique quirks and snappy dialogue.
Yet perhaps the series’ most impressive feat is weaving its myriad elements into a tapestry that’s at once relaxed and sharp, silly and subtly sorrowful. The Lowdown is a byzantine hardboiled mystery that doubles as a complex character study and, additionally, as a great hang-out show, as it’s a pleasure to simply spend time in its protagonist’s company as he dines at his favorite greasy spoon, argues with his editor, and occasionally gets lucky. In this case, though, it’s viewers who are the truly fortunate ones.
