When I first heard that Deadloch was moving its darkly comedic crime saga from the moody shores of Tasmania to the scorching Northern Territory, I couldn’t help but think: this is either going to be a disaster or a masterpiece. And after diving into the details of its second season, I’m leaning heavily toward the latter. What makes this shift particularly fascinating is how the show’s creators, Kate McCartney and Kate McLennan, aren’t just changing locations—they’re reimagining the entire tone, themes, and even the cultural undercurrents of the series. It’s a bold move, but one that feels eerily fitting for a show that’s always thrived on contradictions.
From Tassie Noir to Schnitty Western
One thing that immediately stands out is the genre pivot. The first season was dubbed ‘Tassie noir,’ a term that perfectly captured its brooding, nighttime-heavy atmosphere. But this time around, the Kates are calling it a ‘schnitty western,’ a label that’s as quirky as it is apt. Personally, I think this shift reflects something deeper: the Northern Territory isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a character in its own right. The red dirt, the croc tours, the sun-bleached pubs—these aren’t just set pieces; they’re part of the show’s DNA. And let’s be honest, what could be more Australian than a town with ‘a pub, a police station, and one bin’?
What many people don’t realize is how much the location influences the storytelling. The Territory’s unique blend of beauty and danger—its ‘wild, wild place of many contradictions,’ as Kate Box puts it—mirrors the complexities of the characters themselves. Take the rivalry between the old-school croc tour business and the slick new operation led by Luke Hemsworth. It’s not just a plot device; it’s a metaphor for the clash between tradition and modernity, a theme that resonates far beyond Barra Creek.
Crocodiles, Comedy, and Carceral Thinking
Speaking of crocs, the way the show handles these prehistoric predators is both hilarious and insightful. The casualness with which locals treat them—like the five-metre croc named Two Dogs chilling behind a cyclone fence—is, in my opinion, a perfect microcosm of the Territory’s attitude toward danger. It’s not fear; it’s familiarity. And that familiarity breeds a kind of dark humor that’s distinctly Deadloch. Naming the missing croc ‘Triple-pet’? Pure genius. It’s the kind of absurdity that makes you laugh while also reminding you that, yeah, these things could absolutely eat you.
But what this really suggests is that Deadloch isn’t just a comedy; it’s a commentary. The show’s willingness to tackle the Territory’s troubled history with law enforcement—particularly its impact on First Nations communities—is both brave and necessary. Shari Sebbens’ character, Miki, calling out ‘carceral thinking’ isn’t just a plot point; it’s a mirror held up to Australia’s broader issues with justice and accountability. If you take a step back and think about it, this is what elevates Deadloch from a whodunnit to something far more profound.
The Truth About Truth
Kate McLennan’s observation that Australia ‘doesn’t have a great relationship with the truth and the past’ hits hard. It’s a theme that simmers throughout the season, from the macho detectives with their sketchy group chats to the drone shots of pristine rivers juxtaposed with youth detention centers. What’s particularly interesting here is how the show manages to weave these heavy topics into its comedic fabric without losing its edge. It’s a delicate balance, but one that Deadloch pulls off with surprising grace.
This raises a deeper question: can a comedy truly engage with serious issues without becoming preachy? In my opinion, Deadloch proves that it can. By grounding its humor in the absurdities of real life, the show doesn’t just make you laugh—it makes you think. And in a media landscape saturated with crime dramas that take themselves too seriously, that’s a refreshing change.
The Future of *Deadloch*
As the season unfolds, I can’t help but wonder where the show goes from here. The Northern Territory has given Deadloch a new lease on life, but it’s also set a high bar. Can the Kates keep pushing boundaries without losing the essence of what makes the show work? Personally, I’m optimistic. Their ability to blend humor, heart, and social commentary is unmatched, and I have no doubt they’ll find new ways to surprise us.
What this season really suggests is that Deadloch isn’t just a show about solving crimes; it’s a show about solving Australia. And in a country as complex and contradictory as this one, that’s a mystery worth tuning in for. So, as we wait for the next installment, I’ll be rewatching Season 2, marveling at how a show about a severed hand and a missing croc managed to say so much about who we are—and who we could be.
