There are few television openings more likely to induce a cold sweat than the first three minutes of Untamed. Two climbers inch their way up the sheer granite face of Yosemite’s El Capitan, the ground a terrifying memory thousands of feet below. The tension is already unbearable. Then a body plummets from the summit, a horrifying human pendulum that becomes tangled in their ropes.
It is a visceral, stomach-lurching start to a series that, while set in one of America’s most beautiful places, is far more interested in the ugly secrets people bring with them. Into this chaos rides ISB Special Agent Kyle Turner (Eric Bana), a man whose stony disposition rivals the monolith at the center of his crime scene. The series quickly establishes itself as a wilderness thriller where the most dangerous predators walk on two legs.
Big Park, Small Clues
The victim is logged as Jane Doe #1711, but Turner’s investigation instantly complicates a simple fall. His immediate assessment, delivered with the charm of a kicked beehive, is that she was dead before she went over the edge. She has a bullet wound. She was hunted. His abrasive, takeover style immediately puts him at odds with the local park rangers, who seem to view his arrival with the same enthusiasm they’d reserve for a forest fire. One mutters “Here comes Gary f***ing Cooper,” a line that perfectly captures their mix of professional resentment and grudging respect.
They see him as a relic from another time, yet he’s the only one asking the right questions. The procedural element hinges on Turner’s almost preternatural ability to read the wild. While others see a million acres of unmanageable crime scene, he finds individual strands of hair and tiny, significant beads. He identifies a sprig of foliage clutched in the victim’s hand and knows instantly it only grows in a specific, remote part of the park, narrowing the search area from impossible to merely improbable.
This connection of a current case to a detective’s past failure is a well-worn path in television, a staple from classic procedurals to prestige dramas. Untamed walks this path without apology. The Jane Doe case begins to echo an older, colder case of a missing person that has haunted Turner for years, giving his current investigation a personal, almost vengeful, edge. Over its six episodes, the narrative offers enough twists to keep you hooked, propelled by the constant discovery of new information.
The pacing, however, can be erratic. The middle episodes slow to a methodical crawl, lingering on interrogations with red herrings before a later episode explodes with a sudden burst of action that feels almost jarring. With a suspect pool smaller than a park campsite, some revelations land with a thud of predictability. The final resolution feels oddly structured, rushing to a conclusion that ties up every loose end with a tidiness that feels at odds with the messy world the show otherwise builds.
The Man in the Cowboy Hat is Hurting
Every great TV detective needs a great trauma, and Kyle Turner’s is a foundational piece of his character. Eric Bana, an actor often better than his material, gives a performance of immense control. He conveys Turner’s pain not through monologues but through a rigid posture, a gaze that always seems fixed on a distant, painful memory, and a voice that rarely rises above a gravelly murmur.
This is the man from Munich and Chopper channeling his intensity inward, creating a character who is emotionally imploded. His reliance on bourbon is a classic genre shorthand, another entry in the grand television tradition of equating emotional depth with potential liver damage. But in Bana’s hands, it’s not just a prop; it’s part of a ritual of self-numbed remembrance.
This persona is not an affectation. The series slowly peels back the layers to reveal a man hollowed out by the tragic death of his young son, an event that destroyed his marriage to Jill (Rosemarie DeWitt). This old pain is the engine for his current obsession. He attacks the Jane Doe case with a workaholic desperation, seeing a chance for a redemption he feels he was denied years ago. His personal history makes him a brilliant investigator, capable of seeing patterns of loss everywhere. It also makes him an impossible colleague, a man perpetually pushing away anyone who tries to get close.
His late-night, whiskey-fueled phone calls to his ex-wife are excruciating portraits of this paralysis. There’s a universe of shared history, lingering affection, and deep resentment in their stilted conversations. He seems to be calling not to connect but to confirm his own isolation. His work is his only escape, and he pursues it with the vigor of a man engaged in active self-punishment, throwing himself into danger because he feels he has nothing left to lose.
Finding Friends in High Places
For a man who prefers solitude, Turner’s world is defined by his relationships. The show’s strongest dynamic is the reluctant partnership between him and Naya Vasquez (Lily Santiago), a bright-eyed rookie ranger who transferred from Los Angeles to give her son a better life and escape her own history. She is by-the-book, used to city procedure, and completely unprepared for a partner whose methods seem to involve communing with the trees. Their early scenes crackle with friction. He dismisses her, and she refuses to back down.
The series smartly charts their path from mutual suspicion to genuine symbiosis. In a key sequence, he patiently teaches her to track, and she, in turn, uses her LAPD tech savvy to unlock a clue on a victim’s phone that he had completely overlooked. Their slow-building trust becomes the show’s emotional anchor, a quiet testament to the idea that even the most isolated people need a partner. Santiago’s energetic performance is the perfect foil for Bana’s stoicism, providing a much-needed spark of life.
The supporting cast provides necessary warmth. Sam Neill is excellent as Chief Ranger Paul Souter, who functions as more than a stock supportive boss. He’s a savvy operator who knows how to placate his superiors and manage his volatile star agent, radiating a weary competence that feels authentic. Rosemarie DeWitt brings a quiet strength to Jill, a woman who shares Turner’s grief but has tried to build a new life around it, making their interactions charged with what-ifs.
Beyond this core group, other figures feel more like plot devices than people. Wilson Bethel’s Shane Maguire, a former Army Ranger turned wildlife officer, telegraphs “I’m hiding something” so loudly he might as well be using signal flags. This lack of nuance in the secondary characters means the central mystery has fewer possible outcomes, making the final reveal less of a shock.
Yosemite by Way of Canada
The show presents its setting as a place of awesome beauty and terrible menace. Panoramic shots of mountains and forests fill the screen, creating an atmosphere that is both a travel brochure and a horror movie backdrop. The cinematography often uses high-angle shots to emphasize the characters’ vulnerability against the immense landscape or deep focus to allow threats to emerge slowly from the background.
The sound design is equally important, using the crisp crack of a twig or the distant call of an animal to build suspense in the otherwise oppressive silence. The sheer scale of the park is a constant presence, a reminder of how easily a person can disappear.
For all its visual splendor, however, the series misses a chance to dig deeper into its location. It matters little that this Yosemite was primarily filmed in Canada, because the show treats the setting as a generic, beautiful wilderness. By ignoring the real-world politics, budget cuts, and logistical nightmares of the National Park Service, Untamed sidesteps a layer of authenticity that could have made it exceptional.
Shows like Yellowstone or Joe Pickett have built entire worlds by wedding their crime stories to the specific socio-economic realities of their settings. Untamed is content to use the park as a picturesque stage for its human drama, a stunning but ultimately interchangeable backdrop.
Less a Whodunit, More a Why-He-Does-It
Ultimately, the dead girl on El Capitan is a catalyst. The show is about loss, guilt, and the desperate search for redemption in a world that offers very little. It uses its crime-story framework to examine the idea that the “wild” is not just a place on a map; it is a state of being that exists inside people, waiting for a moment of pressure to be unleashed. The park’s majestic indifference to human life mirrors the story’s bleak view of justice.
The series is a solid, well-acted thriller that sits comfortably within the well-worn grooves of the troubled detective genre. It has the rural noir feel of early True Detective but lacks its dense philosophical noodling. Its greatest strength is the performance of Eric Bana, who gives his character a quiet, heartbreaking dignity. The mystery of who killed Jane Doe is solved, but the question of whether Kyle Turner can ever truly save himself remains wide open.
Full Credits
Director: Mark L. Smith, Elle Smith
Writers: Mark L. Smith, Elle Smith
Producers: Eric Bana, Mark L. Smith, Elle Smith, John Wells, Cliff Roberts, Steve Lee Jones
Cast: Eric Bana, Sam Neill, Rosemarie DeWitt, Lily Santiago, Wilson Bethel
The Review
Untamed
Untamed is a solid, if familiar, wilderness noir. Eric Bana delivers a powerful performance as the haunted detective, and the show's stunning landscapes create a potent atmosphere. While the plot relies on well-worn tropes and a predictable final act, the strong central partnership and moody tone make it a satisfying watch for fans of the genre. It succeeds more as a character study than a groundbreaking mystery.
PROS
- Eric Bana's strong, nuanced performance as Kyle Turner.
- The satisfying and well-developed partnership between Turner and Naya Vasquez.
- Stunning cinematography and an atmospheric use of the wilderness setting.
- A visceral opening scene that effectively hooks the viewer.
CONS
- Relies heavily on familiar detective genre clichés.
- Uneven pacing, with some episodes that drag.
- The central mystery’s resolution is predictable.
- Supporting characters beyond the core cast are underdeveloped.
