Untamed on Netflix: All Scenery, No Substance

Untamed isn’t terrible, but it isn’t very good either. It’s one of those shows that starts out with the promise of something layered and intriguing, then gradually deflates into a story that’s so pedestrian it’s hard to believe anyone thought it was enough.

It looks amazing—Yosemite National Park is the real star here—but that’s kind of the point. This feels like a show that exists because someone got permission to film in Yosemite, not because anyone had a great story to tell.

The Illusion of Depth

From the start, Untamed teases complexity. We’re introduced to characters with interesting setups and allusions to dark, complicated backstories. There’s trauma, loss, corruption, grief—plenty of raw material. But the show never capitalizes on that potential. It throws out ideas and then lets them sit there, undeveloped.

The emotional core is meant to center on the lead’s dead son, but it never resonates. Maybe I’ve just had it with father/son flashbacks (between this and Stick on Apple TV+), but it felt flat and uninspired. You could see what the show wanted me to feel—it just didn’t do the work to get me there.

Tired Tropes & Easy Escapes

Plot-wise, it leans heavily on cliché. You've seen this structure before: the brooding lead, the rookie sidekick, the mysterious death, the conveniently timed clue. It pulls in familiar elements from the wilderness thriller playbook and just rearranges them slightly.

Worse, the show relies on a few too many deus ex machina moments—those out-of-nowhere twists that exist purely to move the story forward. It undermines the sense of real investigation or consequence. The resolution felt especially unearned, as if the writers backed into it because they ran out of episodes.

Final Take

While I enjoyed parts of the journey, I wasn’t happy with the ending—and I wouldn’t recommend the show unless you’re mostly in it for the scenery.

Untamed looks great. Yosemite’s landscapes are incredible, and the cinematography makes the most of them. But that isn’t enough to make a show worthwhile. A setting can elevate a story, but it can’t replace one.

Verdict: Beautiful to look at. Easy to watch. Easy to forget.

Department Q on Netflix

I recently watched Department Q on Netflix, a British crime drama centered around a cantankerous detective working cold cases. Right from the start, I was in. The show has a strong opening and does a great job pulling you into its central mystery. It’s well made, well acted, and easy to get into. I liked it—and I’d recommend giving it a shot.

That said, it isn’t perfect.

There are some goofy moments here and there, and by the end, the story started to lose its grip. The show sets itself up as sharp and tightly plotted, but the resolution felt a little rushed. Characters were introduced late, threads wrapped up quickly, and the ending just didn’t land with the kind of clarity or impact I was hoping for. It wasn’t terrible—it just didn’t quite deliver on the promise of its setup.

The one part I actively disliked was the therapist subplot. That character felt awkwardly shoehorned into the story and never quite fit. Her scenes didn’t add much and often pulled me out of the moment. Honestly, the season would have been stronger without her.

Still, Department Q has a lot going for it: an interesting story, solid acting, and a mystery that keeps you engaged. Just don’t expect a masterpiece. It’s a good watch—flawed, but worthwhile.

Sinners

“Sinners,” written and directed by Ryan Coogler, is a Southern Gothic horror film set in 1932 in the Mississippi Delta. It stars Michael B. Jordan in dual roles as twin brothers Elijah “Smoke” Moore and Elias “Stack” Moore, World War I veterans returning home from Chicago to build a future together. They invest in an old sawmill to open a juke joint serving the local Black community, inviting family and friends to help bring their dream to life. On opening night, some uninvited guests turn the party into a bloodbath. In the aftermath, only a few survive: Smokeand their cousin Sammie (Miles Caton) make it through, while Stack, other loved ones, and community members are lost. Sammie escapes and later builds a legacy as a celebrated blues musician. A post‑credits reveal suggests that Stack and Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) survive as vampires—and offer Sammie immortality, which he rejects.

Overall Thoughts

While Sinners is clearly rich with symbolism and artistic ambition, it didn’t quite draw me in on that deeper level. The film feels like it wants to be studied and unpacked—but I didn’t walk away with the urge to do so. Despite its beautiful cinematography and a few standout sequences, moments that were likely intended to be powerful often came across as forced or even unintentionally corny. I went in hoping for a gripping, emotionally resonant story, but it never fully clicked for me. This might be the kind of film that benefits from a second watch or some outside reading to appreciate its layers—but honestly, I’m not sure I’m motivated to go back. Sinners is entertaining and visually striking, and I can see how others might find a lot to chew on. But for me, it ultimately felt more self-serious than impactful—thoughtful in design, but a little too goofy in execution to really land.

Vampires as Cultural Thieves

The most “on-the-nose” theme of the film centers around the idea that the white vampires don’t just suck the blood of the Black characters—they also consume their culture. They take their music and their language. They’re cultural parasites, drawn not just to bodies but to Black expression, joy, and creativity. They sneak into the juke joint like predators at a feast—drawn by Sammie’s song, and cloaked in false admiration.

Was Immortality Better Than Reality?

There’s an unsettling question buried in the story: was becoming a vampire actually worse than staying human? When life is so brutal and restricted, is losing your soul really a worse fate than living out your reality? The film doesn’t answer this cleanly. I don’t recall any characters choosing transformation, but the ones who are turned seem to embrace it almost immediately. Maybe it isn’t so bad? Sammie escapes and survives—as a witness, not just to the violence, but to the cost of power without integrity.

A Commentary on Religion

Sammie is a central figure in the story, and we see him wrestle with whether to follow his father and remain in the church, or to step away and pursue music on his own terms. It’s suggested to him that he could do both—after all, there’s plenty of music in the church. But that’s not what he wants. He’s not just looking for music—he’s looking for artistic freedom. He wants to create something of his own. This felt like a deeply personal thread, one that many creative people can relate to. And to me, it raised the most thought-provoking question of the film: what does it mean that Sammie rejected religion—refused to drop the guitar—but was also the only one to keep his soul? He doesn’t become a vampire. He doesn’t conform. He resists the life that all of his friends have, in one way or another, “chosen.” But he also refuses to abandon his integrity. He stays true to his art, and he survives because of it—not just physically, but spiritually. That’s how I interpreted Sammie’s story: not as a rejection of values, but as a different kind of faith. One rooted in self-truth, artistic purpose, and the power of carrying your own story forward.

Conclusion

Sinners is a film that aims high—blending horror, history, and symbolism. It didn’t fully land for me, but I keep coming back to Sammie’s refusal to be absorbed and his quiet commitment to staying true to himself. The awkward generational dance scene and the ham-fisted ending sequence in Chicago made me cringe—but even so, I’m still thinking about the weight of Sammie’s choices and what they mean. Maybe that’s the takeaway: stay true to yourself. Enjoy what life offers, but don’t lose yourself in the pleasure or the promise of more.