The vast, unforgiving expanse of the Navajo Nation has always been more than just a backdrop—it’s a living, breathing entity that guards its secrets as fiercely as the red rock canyons that pierce the sky. Now, as the sun dips low over Monument Valley, AMC’s critically acclaimed neo-Western noir Dark Winds rides back into town with its fourth season, premiering on September 21, 2025, on AMC and AMC+. This eight-episode arc promises to unearth even deeper layers of murder, betrayal, and long-buried truths, all while weaving in the rich tapestry of Indigenous culture that has made the series a cultural phenomenon. Fans aren’t holding back: “More addictive than True Detective and darker than Broadchurch,” one viewer raved on social media, capturing the pulse-pounding intensity that’s turning Dark Winds into appointment viewing for a new generation.
Since its debut in June 2022, Dark Winds has captivated audiences with its unflinching portrayal of 1970s Navajo Tribal Police officers navigating a world where ancient traditions clash with modern atrocities. Adapted from the beloved Leaphorn & Chee novels by Tony Hillerman, the series—created by Graham Roland and Vince Calandra—transforms the Southwest into a character unto itself. The first season, drawing from Listening Woman and elements of People of Darkness, introduced us to the stoic Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn (Zahn McClarnon), a haunted veteran cop wrestling with personal demons while investigating a double murder tied to a bank heist and ritualistic killings. Joined by the idealistic Deputy Jim Chee (Kiowa Gordon) and the resilient Sergeant Bernadette “Bernie” Manuelito (Jessica Matten), Leaphorn uncovers a conspiracy that forces him to confront the ghosts of his own family’s unsolved tragedy.
Season 2 deepened the ensemble’s dynamics, fully adapting People of Darkness as Chee grapples with his identity—torn between traditional Navajo healing practices and his ambitions in the outside world—while Leaphorn and Bernie tackle a string of poisonings linked to a cultish commune and a long-forgotten uranium mining scandal. The season’s emotional core lay in the officers’ personal battles: Leaphorn’s stoic facade cracking under the weight of grief for his lost son, Chee’s forbidden romance with a white journalist, and Bernie’s quiet strength as she balances motherhood with her badge. Critics praised the series for its 100% Rotten Tomatoes score, hailing it as “a masterclass in atmospheric tension” that blends procedural grit with profound cultural insight.
By Season 3, which premiered on March 9, 2025, and wrapped in late April, Dark Winds expanded to eight episodes, pulling from Dance Hall of the Dead and The Sinister Pig. The narrative splintered into parallel investigations: Leaphorn pursues a killer targeting Zuni and Navajo teens in ritualistic slayings, echoing ancient folklore of “Big Monster” spirits, while Chee infiltrates a smuggling ring trafficking artifacts and drugs across the border. Bernie, now a mother, uncovers corruption within the tribe’s own ranks, her subplot laced with themes of domestic violence and female empowerment in a patriarchal world. Guest stars like Jeri Ryan as the enigmatic Rosemary Vines and A Martinez as the grizzled Sheriff Gordo Sena added layers of moral ambiguity, culminating in a heart-wrenching finale where Leaphorn faces a monstrous choice—echoing his past loss—that leaves him bloodied and broken in the desert, radioing for help in a rare moment of vulnerability.
That cliffhanger, a flash-forward to a nightmarish confrontation under the stars, sets the stage for Season 4’s descent into even murkier depths. Filming wrapped in early July 2025 in Santa Fe, New Mexico, under the watchful eye of showrunner John Wirth, who has steered the series since Season 2. With executive producers including George R.R. Martin (whose epic storytelling sensibilities infuse the sprawling plots) and the late Robert Redford (whose poignant Season 3 cameo as a weathered elder marked his final on-screen role before his passing in September 2025), the new season picks up mere months after the S3 finale. Leaphorn, scarred physically and spiritually from his ordeal, awakens in a haze of pain and paranoia, convinced a vengeful entity from Navajo lore—perhaps the skinwalker whispered about in hushed tones—is hunting him. As he pieces together the fragmented night, he realizes the “monster” was all too human: a betrayal orchestrated by someone in his inner circle, tied to the escaped antagonist Tom Spenser from Season 3.
The plot thickens as a new wave of murders rocks the reservation—victims found desiccated in the dunes, their bodies arranged in patterns mimicking ancient petroglyphs. Chee, now more entangled in tribal politics, suspects a link to a shadowy crime syndicate exploiting sacred lands for illegal fracking, a modern echo of the uranium horrors from prior seasons. Bernie, promoted to lieutenant in a nod to her growth, leads a task force that uncovers a web of corruption stretching from tribal councilors to off-reservation FBI agents, forcing her to question loyalties she’s long taken for granted. Betrayal ripples through every subplot: Leaphorn’s strained marriage to Emma (Deanna Allison) fractures further as old secrets about their son’s death resurface; Chee’s mentorship of a troubled Navajo teen (played by newcomer Isabel Deroy-Olson) turns perilous when the kid falls in with the wrong crowd; and a federal probe into reservation finances exposes bribes that could topple the entire police department.
New cast additions inject fresh menace and intrigue. Titus Welliver, the gravel-voiced Harry Bosch from the eponymous Amazon series, steps in as Dominic McNair, a ruthless crime boss with deep ties to the syndicate—a role that lets him channel the brooding intensity fans adore, but with a Southwestern twist. McNair isn’t just a villain; he’s a former reservation resident turned opportunist, whose return stirs up painful histories for Leaphorn and Chee. Luke Barnett joins as Agent Harlan Reed, a slick FBI operative whose “help” comes with strings attached, embodying the tense jurisdictional battles between tribal and federal law enforcement. Meanwhile, the core trio shines brighter than ever. McClarnon, making his directorial debut on Episode 4, delivers a tour de force as Leaphorn, his weathered face a map of quiet fury and unspoken sorrow. “Zahn doesn’t just play Joe—he is Joe,” Wirth told outlets post-wrap party. Gordon’s Chee evolves from wide-eyed deputy to conflicted sage, his spiritual journeys providing the season’s emotional anchor, while Matten’s Bernie emerges as the moral compass, her arc exploring the burdens of Indigenous women in positions of power.
What elevates Dark Winds beyond standard crime fare is its masterful fusion of genre thrills with cultural authenticity. Over 95% of the cast and key crew are Indigenous, ensuring stories that honor Navajo and broader Native perspectives without exoticizing them. Themes of intergenerational trauma, environmental desecration, and the erosion of sovereignty pulse through every frame, from the ceremonial sweats where characters seek guidance from elders to the stark confrontations with white interlopers who view the land as a commodity. The 1970s setting—sans cell phones or forensics—amplifies the isolation, making each dusty road chase or midnight stakeout feel primal and urgent. Cinematographer Peter Robertson’s lens captures the desert’s dual nature: majestic sunrises over buttes that symbolize resilience, and howling sandstorms that mirror the characters’ inner turmoil.
Visually, Season 4 pushes boundaries with hallucinatory sequences blending folklore and reality—Leaphorn’s visions of skinwalkers manifesting as feverish montages scored by haunting original music from composer Clinton Shorter, infused with traditional Navajo flutes and drums. Directors like Billy Luther (a Season 2 alum) and newcomer Tazbah Chavez bring Indigenous eyes to the action, ensuring rituals like the Yéʼíłtsʼíí (Night Chant) feel sacred rather than stereotypical. The production’s commitment to New Mexico’s Camel Rock Studios, built on Tesuque Pueblo land, underscores the series’ ethos: amplifying Native voices in Hollywood, from writers’ room consultations with tribal elders to hiring local artisans for props and wardrobe.
Reception for the first three seasons has been nothing short of stellar, with perfect 100% Rotten Tomatoes scores for Seasons 1 and 2, and Season 3 earning a robust 94% for its “profound emotional depth and unrelenting suspense.” Outlets like The Hollywood Reporter lauded McClarnon’s “riveting” lead as “the most capable person on screen,” while Rolling Stone called the series “TV’s most poignant crime drama,” praising its exploration of bigotry, classism, and violence against Indigenous peoples. On Netflix, where Seasons 1 and 2 landed in the Top 10 for weeks after their August 2024 drop, binge-watchers devoured the show for its “slow-burn brilliance,” often comparing it to Longmire meets Mindhunter. Season 3’s weekly AMC airings drew record cable ratings, with social buzz exploding around Leaphorn’s finale breakdown—”a moment that shatters the stoic cowboy myth,” as one fan tweeted.
Yet, Dark Winds isn’t without its shadows. Some purists nitpick deviations from Hillerman’s books, like expanded backstories or altered timelines, but these changes serve the TV medium’s need for serialized intimacy. Others note the deliberate pacing—episodes clocking in at 45-50 minutes—can test patience amid the vast silences of the rez, but that’s the point: in a world of TikTok instant gratification, the series demands you lean into the discomfort, much like its protagonists. And for all its acclaim, the show grapples with heavier truths: the ongoing epidemic of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (MMIW), environmental racism from resource extraction, and the spiritual cost of assimilation. It’s no accident that Season 4’s central mystery involves a desecrated sacred site, a metaphor for how colonialism’s wounds fester beneath the surface.
As Dark Winds enters its fourth season, it stands as a testament to storytelling that doesn’t just entertain but educates and indicts. In an era of true-crime overload, this isn’t about lurid kills—it’s about the human cost, the quiet heroism of those who protect their people against impossible odds. With Netflix set to add Season 3 by mid-2026 (following the pattern of prior delays), the platform’s global reach will only amplify its impact, introducing the series to audiences craving diverse narratives. Whether you’re a die-hard Hillerman fan or a newcomer seduced by the trailer’s ominous tagline—”Sometimes to stop a monster, you have to become one”—Dark Winds Season 4 is poised to be the fall’s must-binge, a haunting saga that lingers like dust on your boots long after the credits fade.
Tune in Sundays at 9 PM ET on AMC, or stream on AMC+, and let the desert winds carry you away. Just remember: out there, the secrets don’t stay buried forever.
