Sterlin Harjo, the acclaimed creator of Reservation Dogs and Mekko, has returned with yet another love letter to the community – this time in the form of a new series: The Lowdown.

Described as neo-noir, a dramedy and an “ode to journalistic integrity,” The Lowdown captures the journalistic misadventures of Lee Raybon, a Tulsa bookseller and self-described “truthstorian,” portrayed by Ethan Hawke.

After publishing a revealing story about the influential Washberg family, Lee finds himself haunted by the skeletons he’s dug up and quickly spun into a web of corruption and secrets that force him to confront both the city’s string-pullers and his own past.

Joining Hawke is Ryan Kiera Armstrong as Francis, Lee’s quick-witted teenage daughter whose blend of curiosity and defiance often tests – and occasionally strengthens – her father’s convictions. Keith David stars as Marty, a private investigator who shares Lee’s relentless pursuit of truth, tolerating his eccentricities in the process. Together, they’re joined by a cast of equally intriguing allies and adversaries.

Among other themes, the series blends mystery, history and community, in a grounded reflection on truth and legacy in modern Oklahoma. It dives into the messy work of journalism, particularly in a city that, like many others, has attempted to build and paint over its past transgressions and call it progress. And like much of Harjo’s work, it’s steeped in an authenticity – and often a humor – that makes his stories feel both real and restorative.

Even the character of Lee Raybon draws inspiration from real-life Tulsa historian Lee Roy Chapman, who in 2011 uncovered through an article in This Land Press that Tulsa founder Tate Brady – namesake of the city’s former Brady District – had ties to the Ku Klux Klan and participated in the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre. That revelation led to the district’s renaming in 2018 as the Tulsa Arts District.

Chapman, a journalist, historian and filmmaker, was known for his work on the Outsiders House Museum Project, his research into Oklahoma’s hidden histories and his dedication to amplifying overlooked voices and events in the state’s past.

Harjo and others involved in the production knew the real Lee Roy Chapman, whose work continues to resonate. During an early screening at the Philbrook Museum, a pop-up exhibit displayed several of Chapman’s archival pieces, curated in partnership with the Center for Public Secrets.

Adding to the authenticity, The Lowdown was filmed on the very streets it depicts – a story about Tulsa, made in Tulsa, by people who live in its successes and contradictions every day.

Harjo’s work always feels intentional, and this latest effort continues that spirit.

— Working on The Lowdown

I came to The Lowdown, like many opportunities, by a mix of timing and connections.

Before working at the Okmulgee Times, I’d been in and out of film work beginning in 2021, when I was invited to serve as a production assistant on Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon. Just days before I started writing for the paper, I got to day play simply, a one-day crew position – on what would become the pilot episode of The Lowdown.

After hearing nothing more for months, I leaned into my work as a community journalist and assumed the opportunity had passed.

Then, in November 2024, I got a message from sound mixer Royce Sharp – someone who’s been a steady mentor and a wealth of knowledge about all things sound and community (since we met during my time as an art assistant on season two of Reservation Dogs – a gig I learned about through Yuchi artist Sierra Revis, who attended Wilson schools right here in Okmulgee).

Royce told me a production might be gearing up again early the following year. Months later, he invited me to join the sound department, which turned into a months-long gig as a sound utility on The Lowdown.

You can think of the sound utility as the connective tissue of the sound department – part technician, part runner, part problem solver. My job was to handle every piece of audio equipment that passed through the set: lavalier microphones, IFBs, antennas, sound blankets, various batteries and several more items I’m still learning the names of. If you can hear it, in some way, we handled it.

That responsibility was made lighter by the collaborative spirit of our department. If I had questions about mic placement, live mixing or the best way to hold a boom pole for an extended period, I worked alongside people who were patient, knowledgeable and understanding. We picked up slack for one another.

Sharp and Mads McFarland, our boom operator, taught and trusted in equal measure. It’s rare to find that balance of competence and humility on set – or in any workplace, for that matter.

In fact, a defining characteristic of the Harjo productions I’ve been a part of is just how well the crew works together, and I believe that care and attention to detail manifest in the final product – and in how audiences feel it.

Those unpredictable days – where everything either clicks or falls apart – reaffirmed, for me, the value of adaptability. My philosophy has often been to learn how things work before trying to improve them. That’s the approach I took. Of course, there were challenges. No two days on set are the same.

One day, the mic you placed stays perfectly on an actor, and the transmitter batteries last through most of the takes. No interference, no noise pollution. The next, it’s a sweltering Oklahoma afternoon – you’re chasing sweat-slicked lavs between takes, batteries are draining as if they never charged, the low hum of kitchen appliances seeps into the take, your morning coffee starts fighting you back, or your brakes fail on the way to a set, and rain begins to fall because … Oklahoma.

But the highs made it all worth it: continuing to learn more about all the moving parts of film, working with a blend of creative personalities, cuing the music for certain scenes, capturing the songs of cicadas for use in post production, snacks at crafty … far exceeding the daily recommended caffeine intake to push through an overnight shoot, seeing locals beam at the chance to be an extra, Keith David breaking into song between takes, Ethan Hawke commending our work ethic at the wrap party, and just watching our team move in sync, collectively working toward the worthy goal of meaningful art.

In an age where we can feel inundated with what seems like empty, soulless “content,” projects like The Lowdown reminded me that that is not all there is. And we need more.

We need more art – more artists. We need more storytellers. We need more witnesses.

Finally, there is such a thing as being too close to see something fully, and my experience with The Lowdown is inseparable from the experience of working on it. So please go watch and make your own opinions and observations.

All that said, I’m grateful to be writing again – with a little more perspective, a few more stories and a renewed sense of responsibility I stepped away from reporting to help tell a story about a community reporter, and if that experience taught me anything, it’s that both film and writing – like all human expression mean nothing without the people.

“Do you think human creativity matters? Well, most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry, right? They have a life to live and they’re really not that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems or anyone’s poems – until, their father dies; they go to a funeral; you lose a child; someone breaks your heart. And all of a sudden you’re desperate for making sense out of this life. ‘Has anybody felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ Or the inverse – something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes – you love them so much you can’t even see straight. You’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art’s not a luxury – it’s actually sustenance. We need it.” – Ethan Hawke, TED