Imagine an episode of television that flips between laughter and chills like a coin toss in a high-stakes game— that's the thrilling duality of Episode 5 of The Lowdown, where friendship clashes head-on with the shadows of power and corruption. But here's where it gets controversial: Is this show just a fun road-trip romp, or a biting critique of law enforcement that's bound to divide viewers? Stick around to dive into the details and see what sparks your own debate.
Every tale has its layers, and this week's installment of The Lowdown (available at https://decider.com/show/the-lowdown/) serves up a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's a wild, buddy-comedy adventure on wheels, featuring Ethan Hawke and Peter Dinklage as two wildly different aging activists reunited by the memory of a lost friend, leading to all sorts of comedic chaos. On the other, it's a harrowing descent into the fury and unchecked excesses of modern authoritarianism, where badge-wearing thugs terrorize anyone who stands in their way. Think of it as peering through glasses that are half-full of joy and half-empty of dread— we're sipping from both perspectives today.
Let's kick off with the lighter, more enjoyable elements, because they're a blast to unpack. Enter Wendell (played by Dinklage), the former co-owner of Lee's bookstore, who bursts onto the scene trailing a cloud of sarcasm, snobbery, and marijuana smoke. He's your quintessential hard-living punk rock veteran, disdainful of what he perceives as Lee's sell-outs to Oklahoma's shadowy elite— the 'Illuminati,' as he mockingly calls them— and frustrated by Lee's sloppy detective work and messy bookshelf organization.
Yet, despite all that, Wendell drags Lee into a day-long outing, a longstanding ritual honoring their deceased buddy, Jesús, whose ideals they both claim to emulate. Their dynamic starts off so prickly and hostile that you might mistake them for bitter rivals instead of pals. But as the story unfolds, you see the underlying comfort in their bickering, revealing a deep, albeit grudging, affection. It's like watching two old sparring partners who can't help but care for each other beneath the surface tension.
If this setup reminds you of the quirky rapport between Walter Sobchak and The Dude from The Big Lebowski, you're spot on— right down to Wendell's fiery outrage toward anti-Semites. There's even a heated debate over Lee's special lady friend, Betty Jo, and a character named Jesus, for fans tracking The Lowdown's affectionate nods to the Coen Brothers' classic.
And this is the part most people miss: The episode cleverly winks at another Southwestern crime drama, the Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul universe, through a cameo by Tina Parker as Saul Goodman's receptionist. She pops up as Sandy, a local official whom Wendell sweet-talks into handing over vintage maps needed to locate the disputed land tied to the Washberg brothers' feud. 'This is fun,' Wendell grins insincerely. 'This is easy, you and me.' The delivery is hilarious, delivering genuine laugh-out-loud moments.
Wendell initially doubts there's any real substance to the land—a barren stretch called Indian Head Hills—or Lee's probe into the Washbergs. That is, until armed assailants ambush Lee's van, clearly pursuing him. Coupled with a showdown involving skinheads that security guard Henry disperses with a warning shot, Wendell finally grasps the genuine peril Lee faces in his quest for truth. After venting their frustrations in a cathartic ritual, they part ways on warmer terms. But the lingering camera shot on Wendell as he departs hints that Lee isn't so sure his friend will survive long enough for their next reunion.
Now, shifting to the darker, more unsettling narrative thread, painted in the colors of red, white, and Tulsa PD blue. Interspersed throughout Lee and Wendell's escapades are scenes exposing the sinister underbelly of right-wing politics and law enforcement. Take Donald Washberg, the gubernatorial hopeful, who smashes a cabinet door mere inches from Betty Jo's face in a fit of jealousy over her fling with Lee.
Donald then hosts a gathering for 'the 46,' an exclusive all-white men's club where attendees push for stripping Oklahoma's Native American tribes of their legal autonomy. At this event, familiar face Frank Martin brags about his authentic Nazi-era gun, yet is dismissed as too mild-mannered. He's tasked with orchestrating a shady land deal via a web of shell companies, essentially a bribe to Donald for future favors— a practice the Supreme Court has deemed legal, though the reasoning remains murky, possibly influenced by figures like Harlan Crow.
Donald's episode culminates in a devilish display: He orders police to kidnap Lee and haul him to a private club hosting a chaotic cop bash. The sequence captures orgiastic displays, deafening explosions, reckless shooting, and heavy drug use in a single, dizzying camera take, echoing Matthew McConaughey and Woody Harrelson's terrifying trek through a biker den in True Detective. The message is crystal clear and unflinching: These officers aren't protectors; they're a mob operating under Donald's command.
But here's where it gets controversial— do you see this portrayal as a fair indictment of police corruption, or an exaggerated stereotype that unfairly paints all law enforcement with a broad brush? It's a depiction that's sure to spark heated debates.
Woven into the fabric of the episode is another storyline: Marty steps out on a date! His online match, portrayed by Tisha Campbell, is initially smitten but becomes uneasy upon discovering his complicated ties to his boss. If their once-friendly relationship has soured, she suggests, maybe it's time for Marty to reevaluate his role. Until he's willing to do that, their budding romance fizzles out after just one encounter.
Having binge-watched plenty of shows crammed with star power this year, I can attest that talent alone doesn't guarantee greatness. Yet, with performances from Ethan Hawke, Peter Dinklage, Jeanne Tripplehorne, Kyle MacLachlan, Keith David, and Tisha Campbell, it's nearly impossible for this episode to falter. These actors bring such charisma that The Lowdown shines as an irresistibly engaging series.
What are your thoughts on this episode's bold juxtaposition of comedy and critique? Do you think the homages to shows like The Big Lebowski and Breaking Bad enhance the experience, or do they feel like overdone callbacks? And let's get real— is the show's take on cops as a 'gang' a spot-on commentary on systemic issues, or does it cross into sensationalism? Share your opinions in the comments below; I'd love to hear agreements, disagreements, or any counterpoints you might have!
Sean T. Collins (@seantcollins.com on Bluesky and theseantcollins on Patreon) covers television for outlets like The New York Times, Vulture, Rolling Stone, and more. He's the author of Pain Don’t Hurt: Meditations on Road House and resides with his family on Long Island.
