I really didn’t know what to expect when I started Untamed, a new six-part mystery drama series on Netflix, yet it somehow drew me in with its setting, characters and unique concept. Created by Mark L. Smith and Elle Smith, Untamed follows Special Agent Kyle Turner—played with quiet stoicism by Eric Bana—as he investigates the suspicious death of a young woman whose body crashes through the climbers’ lines at El Capitan.
The show pulls the viewer in with an almost Wild West-style view of nature and the world around us. The cinematography and narrative help capture the grandeur and danger of untamed America, and the nuanced characters are haunted by their own histories. Even though it often gets stuck in the weeds, it still manages to offer enough originality to make it a captivating watch.
From its very first frame, Untamed grounds itself in a distinctly American landscape, inviting the viewer to experience what it’s like to live and struggle alongside the natural world. The opening sequence—where two climbers are startled mid-ascent by a falling corpse—is a bone-chilling jolt, sweeping away any preamble in favour of raw, vertigo-inducing tension and horror at what is really going on. Turner, an agent with the National Park Service’s Investigative Services Branch, soon rides into the scene on horseback, his presence as commanding and weathered as the terrain he’s sworn to patrol. Yosemite’s spires and forests aren’t postcard backdrops; they are living, breathing forces that shape every clue, confrontation and revelation.
Bana’s Turner is, at first, the picture of what we expect from someone who lives and works with nature—raw, stoic and controlled. Yet as the story unfolds, we see a character who is far more complex, conflicted and in pain. The show reveals Turner’s deep trauma following the loss of his child to a predator years earlier—an event that not only shattered his marriage to Jill, played by Rosemarie DeWitt, but also colours every part of his approach to both law and life.
His coping mechanisms, which include heavy drinking and emotional withdrawal, are portrayed with honesty in Untamed, avoiding self-pity while still showing the struggle that holds him back from living fully. This authenticity gives the show its anchor: Turner may resemble the classic battered investigator, but the nuances in Bana’s performance remind us this is a man shaped by loss, not defined by it.
“His coping mechanisms, which include heavy drinking and emotional withdrawal, are portrayed with honesty in Untamed…”
He finds an unlikely partner in Naya Vasquez, played by Lily Santiago. A former Los Angeles cop adjusting to the unfamiliar rhythms of park ranger life, Vasquez carries her own secrets, including her escape from an abusive ex and her responsibilities as a single mother. Her dynamic with Turner evolves steadily, built on guarded respect rather than forced chemistry, underscoring the series’ preference for earned moments over easy contrivance. The story paints Vasquez as a strong counterbalance to Turner, highlighting his weaknesses and offering a fresh perspective on how the investigation should unfold. It’s their chemistry that helps anchor the series and adds a depth that isn’t immediately obvious on the surface.
The central investigation expands from Yosemite’s cliffs into the tangled brush of small communities, park squatters, Indigenous histories and environmental politics. What begins as a straightforward inquiry into a heartbreaking tragedy soon unfurls into layers of conspiracy and corruption that seem to have their tendrils in park administration, law enforcement and the people who call those woods home. Yet, even with the complexity of the mystery, Untamed seems hellbent on not glamorizing either the victim or her surroundings. The dead woman, identified over the season as Lucy, is revealed to be entangled in drug-related circles, with a backstory marked by abuse, survival and desperate attempts to break free from cycles both familiar and geographic.
“Although the narrative draws inspiration from genuine incidents in Yosemite, Untamed stops short of claiming to be a true story.”
There’s a lot to like about Untamed, but above all, the setting and cinematography stand out, delivering some of the best nature shots this side of a BBC documentary—British Columbia convincingly standing in for Yosemite. Great care is paid to the realities of park policing and the ingenuity required to investigate crimes where nature, not technology, holds most of the cards.
A sense of authenticity pervades the procedural elements, thanks to research into the real-life National Park Service’s Investigative Services Branch. Although the narrative draws inspiration from genuine incidents in Yosemite, Untamed stops short of claiming to be a true story. This rootedness in fact—but commitment to fiction—allows the series to chart its own course, balancing plausibility with the propulsive demands of drama.
As much as there is to like about Untamed, even in just six episodes, it does falter in ways that hold it back. The pacing occasionally stumbles, with the limited structure allowing for detours that sap momentum. Rescue scenes and subplots, while interesting and tantalizing, don’t always blend smoothly with the main storyline, and the show sometimes skirts familiar tropes in crime dramas. Still, despite these pacing issues, the unfolding story stays compelling thanks to the emotional honesty at its core. Turner’s pursuit is never just professional—each clue is weighted with personal stakes, giving even routine discoveries a sense of urgency.
Untamed stands as a complex wilderness mystery, elevated by strong performances, atmospheric direction and a refusal to let the landscape fade into the background. It carves out a distinctive space in the crowded field of crime television—one defined not by empty spectacle, but by the hard, slow work of reckoning with both the wild and one’s place within nature. For those seeking a series that treats both its setting and its subjects with unvarnished care, Untamed is worth the journey into the wilds.
