The Hills Have Crimes: “Untamed (2025)” Walks the Line Between Grit and Moss

Eric Bana, a special agent for the National Park Service who works to enforce human law in nature's vast wilderness. The investigation of a brutal death sends Inman on a collision course with the dark secrets within the park, and in his own past.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRwV1k-abZo

Let me just start with this: if you’ve ever wanted Yellowstone to stop making out with cowboy hats and instead shack up with True Detective while listening to Fleetwood Mac in the middle of a fog-drenched forest, Netflix heard your oddly specific wish and delivered Untamed. This one stars Eric Bana, Sam Neill, and Rosemarie DeWitt - and if you’re thinking “Wait, is this a sequel to Hannah and Her Sisters but with rifles and ranger hats?” then buckle up, because you’re about to head into the wilderness of slow-burn prestige drama with a side of backwoods brooding.

The plot reads like the fever dream of someone who got lost in Banff with a copy of Into the Wild and an entire season of Law & Order: SVU downloaded on their phone. Eric Bana plays Inman, a rugged, seen-it-all special agent with the National Park Service who, I kid you not, is tasked with enforcing human law in the wilderness. That’s right. Human law. Because apparently, the raccoons have their own code of ethics. (Spoiler: They don’t.)

Things go south faster than a hiker without a map when Inman stumbles into the investigation of a brutal death, which of course spirals into a web of secrets, shady pasts, and enough moss-covered drama to give you flashbacks to your college ex. The deeper Inman digs, the more the forest coughs up its ghosts, and wouldn’t you know it - some of them are his.

Now, I know what you're thinking: “This sounds like an overgrown cliché wrapped in flannel.” And you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. But here’s the thing: Untamed knows how to slow burn like a campfire story that actually gets good around episode three. Each chapter dials the tension up just a bit more, like tightening the laces on your hiking boots before heading into bear country.

Let’s talk about Eric Bana. That man has the face of someone who’s seen some serious existential stuff but would still stop to help you jump-start your Subaru in a snowstorm. There’s a quiet confidence to him that makes you believe he knows where the bodies are buried - because he probably buried a few himself, metaphorically if not literally. He brings just enough gravitas to make you forget the show’s more ridiculous moments.

Sam Neill does what Sam Neill does best - he shows up, squints a lot, says cryptic things in a way that makes you feel like you’ve just been lectured by a haunted anthropology professor, and then disappears into the foliage. Rosemarie DeWitt holds her own as the emotionally bruised yet determined colleague, although her character sometimes feels like she wandered in from a Big Little Lies spin-off about competitive hiking moms.

But let’s not pretend this is a perfect trek through the woods. The show stumbles more than a hungover camper looking for the latrine at 3 AM. First off, can we please, for the love of Newton, stop with the wonky physics? I love a good mountain climbing scene as much as the next guy who’s never climbed anything higher than a ladder - but when a character stops two people from plunging to their deaths using a rope, one anchor, and sheer determination, you better be prepared to suspend disbelief like it’s hanging from a carabiner made of hopes and dreams.

And then there's the storytelling structure - multiple timelines. Because of course. Somewhere in a Netflix boardroom there’s a whiteboard with "Mandatory: Non-linear timeline" written in blood. I get it, flashbacks can be artful, but when I need a corkboard and yarn to follow who did what and when, you’ve officially lost me in the narrative forest.

Also, let’s address the magical realism of park ranger teleportation. The series goes out of its way to hammer home how “massive” and “untouched” the park is, only to have characters pop up in precisely the right place at precisely the right time like they’re using ranger GPS powered by the spirit of Sacagawea. Case in point: Turner, who just happens to appear in the nick of time to save Vasquez, no explanation needed. I half expected him to say, “I was in the neighborhood.” Yeah, sure buddy.

Now, I’m not saying this is a bad show. In fact, it’s quite good if you’re into slow-cooked crime dramas with atmospheric shots of misty forests and people whisper-arguing about betrayal and morality while gutting fish. The cinematography is gorgeous - Vancouver and Chip Kerr Park are practically characters themselves, showing off their rugged Canadian beauty like a lumberjack on a dating app.

And despite the occasional narrative bear trap, Untamed has its claws in you by the midway point. You care. You want to know who did it. You want to see Inman solve the mystery, confront his demons, and maybe - just maybe - smile once. (Spoiler: He doesn’t. That beard is way too full of sorrow.)

By the end, the twists are satisfying enough to justify the trek. There’s emotional payoff, moral ambiguity, and just enough closure to make you nod with appreciation as the credits roll.

Final Verdict: 7.0 out of 10

Think of it as a forest trail with a few muddy patches - you’ll slip now and then, but the view at the end makes it worth the hike.