From the very first frame, The Lowdown has carved its identity as something uniquely magnetic, a neo-noir western that doesn’t just look gorgeous but feels lived-in. Every shot of Tulsa glows like an oil painting under a sun that refuses to set. The dialogue, sharp and oddly poetic, hums with the rhythm of real people pretending not to care. But in Episode 4, something shifts. The show stops being just clever and cool and starts being profoundly human. It’s about people who are burned out, broken, and still desperately searching for meaning in the ashes of their lives.
There’s lust and loss, mystery and memory, violence and vulnerability; all tangled in one stunning hour of television. Episode 4 is where The Lowdown finally looks its audience straight in the eye and says, “This is who we really are.”
A Heat That Comes Out of Nowhere
The heart of the episode, and arguably the season so far, lies in the electrifying and wholly unexpected pairing of Lee Raybon (Ethan Hawke) and Betty Jo Washberg (Jeanne Tripplehorn). Up to this point, their connection had been cold, almost clinical, the wary dance between a dirt-digging reporter and a woman with too many secrets to keep straight. And yet, in this episode, their chemistry hits like lightning on a cloudless day.
It begins almost absurdly. Lee has been tailing Betty Jo in his scuffed white van, convinced she’s hiding something about her husband’s death. But Betty Jo, ever the bold and unpredictable rodeo queen, decides to confront the hunter head-on. Instead of calling him out or threatening to sue, she does something infinitely more dangerous — she invites him to dinner.
What follows is a masterclass in slow-burn connection. They start with verbal sparring over cheap burgers and greasy fries, trading insults and wounded pride. She accuses him of dragging her name through the mud; he fires back about her husband’s dirty money. And then, somewhere between the sarcasm and the tequila, the air shifts. The drinks pile up, the laughter turns real, and the tension morphs into something neither of them can quite name.
Betty Jo takes to the karaoke stage, performing songs that tell the story of her own heartbreak, maybe Reba’s “Fancy,” maybe Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams.” Lee watches her, seeing not the scandal-ridden mistress the tabloids describe but a woman who once had fire in her veins. The moment feels reckless and tender at once. When they finally kiss, it isn’t romantic in the usual sense; it’s messy, hungry, and achingly human.
A Night of Confessions and Consequences
The evening doesn’t end there. Betty Jo, with her mix of charm and self-destruction, invites Lee home claiming it’s for safety, to make sure she hasn’t been followed. We know better. What follows is less a seduction than a reckoning.
They wander through the remnants of her life: dusty trophies, rodeo ribbons, faded family photos. Lee pokes around Dale’s office while she watches old VHS tapes of her rodeo days, her laughter softening into melancholy. They talk about everything; the scandals, her late husband’s secrets, and the child she had to protect by burying the truth. When Betty Jo casually pulls a loaded gun as a joke, Lee’s reaction is part fear, part fascination. These two are living proof that danger can be addictive.
Then the emotional floodgates open. She reveals that Donald, not Dale, is her daughter’s real father, that the confrontation between the brothers before Dale’s death wasn’t about politics but betrayal. The supposed assassination attempt wasn’t paranoia; it was prophecy. Lee, too, bears his own pain, a failed marriage, a career that’s eating his conscience alive.
By dawn, they’re sitting on her porch steps, sharing cigarettes and silence, the night having wrung them dry. When Betty Jo murmurs, “It was the most fun I’ve had in years,” it’s both tragic and sweet. She stumbles inside, leaving the door open, a gesture that says everything she’s too tired to put into words.
It’s cinematic poetry. That open door isn’t just an invitation; it’s a symbol of vulnerability, of a woman daring, for once, to be seen.
The Cold Light of Morning
Of course, The Lowdown doesn’t allow warmth to linger. The next morning, Donald, out on his jog, spots Lee leaving Betty Jo’s house. One fleeting glance, and you can feel the storm clouds forming. For a man like Donald, running for governor and guarding his reputation like a fortress, scandal isn’t just inconvenient, it’s fatal.
His right-hand man, Marty, warns him that alienating Betty Jo could blow up in his face, but pride wins. Donald doesn’t realize he’s just witnessed the first spark of a fuse that will burn through everything he’s built.
The irony is delicious, in a show full of corruption and cover-ups, it’s a single human connection that could bring the whole empire crashing down.
The Villain Who Found His Soul Too Late
Meanwhile, in a quieter corner of the episode, we see something startling, a crack in the armor of Allen, the show’s resident enforcer. In a dimly lit AA meeting, the man who once felt untouchable breaks down. He admits he’s failed his “savior” — the mysterious boss who gave him purpose when he was an ex-con at rock bottom. For a moment, we glimpse something that looks like genuine remorse.
But in The Lowdown, goodness is never rewarded. Within minutes, Allen is dead, executed in a scene so chaotic and blood-soaked it feels ripped from a Coen Brothers fever dream. The cruel twist? He’s killed by the very man he was trying to impress.
Actor Scott Shepherd plays the moment to perfection. In Allen’s final seconds, you see terror, confusion, and a glimmer of recognition — the understanding that loyalty means nothing in a world built on betrayal. His death isn’t just another body count; it’s the show’s moral thesis written in blood.
A Ghostly Farewell
And then comes the final, haunting act. Dale Washberg, the long-dead brother whose shadow looms over every plotline, appears again not in flashback, but as a kind of spectral narrator. Through his letters, discovered in the last episode, we hear him reflect on life, love, and loss with an almost biblical sense of grandeur. His words may be purple and self-aggrandizing, but they lend a strange spirituality to the story.
In the episode’s closing scene, Dale stands on his land, smoking a black cigarette, draped in The Dude’s Pendleton sweater, a sly wink to The Big Lebowski. He tosses the cigarette aside, turns his back, and walks into the horizon. The camera lingers on a single rock as the screen fades to black, leaving only the sound of wind.
It’s a mesmerizing ending, a reminder that in The Lowdown, the land outlives its sinners. Man doesn’t speak the final word, but by the earth itself.
My Thoughts
Episode 4 of The Lowdown isn’t just the best of the series so far — it’s where the show transcends genre. It starts as a sunburned noir about corruption and ends as a meditation on faith, desire, and decay. Writer Duffy Boudreau and director Macon Blair have created an hour that pulses with messy humanity, flawed people stumbling through love and guilt in a world that keeps spinning without mercy.
Every element, the performances, the cinematography, the dialogue, comes together to prove that The Lowdown isn’t just about who dies or who lies. It’s about why we still crave connection, even when it destroys us.
The final image, the open door, the wind, the rock, lingers like a half-remembered prayer. It’s as if the show is whispering, “Sin and redemption are two sides of the same wind-blown coin.”
And in that truth, The Lowdown finds its soul.
Read more: The Lowdown Episode 3
