To possess a poker face signifies an impenetrable demeanor—a liberty to weave lies without the peril of detection, and even to bare outrageous truths without a flicker of self-doubt crossing one's visage. Such a moniker, however, seems an odd and somewhat ill-suited label for "Poker Face," a captivating TV mystery series centered around Charlie, a cocky and smug cocktail waitress endowed with the uncanny ability to detect lies, portrayed with relish and charm by Natasha Lyonne. Yet Charlie herself—embodied with vim and verve by Lyonne—is impulsive, disorganized, and transparent. The enigmatic poker face alluded to in the series' title is neither hers nor that of the inept adversaries she effortlessly outwits in the series premiere. Perhaps I'm merely being overly meticulous, or maybe the title itself harbors one of the myriad mysteries that Rian Johnson's ten-episode series will gradually unveil.
"Poker Face" marks the directorial debut of Johnson, known for "Knives Out," into the realm of television, a medium that Lyonne has masterfully navigated with ease (as evidenced by her stints in "Orange Is the New Black" and "Russian Doll"). One delightful aspect of the series' vintage-inspired opening credits, rendered in a striking "Columbo"-like yellow hue, is the camaraderie among Johnson's past collaborators. "Dead Man’s Hand" boasts the talents of Lyonne's "OITNB" co-star Dascha Polanco and Adrien Brody, whom Johnson previously directed in "The Brothers Bloom." (Benjamin Bratt also makes an appearance—somewhat unexpected but ever delightful.) For the pilot episode, it also features Bob Ducsay (the award-winning editor of "Knives Out" and "Star Wars: Episode VIII"), composer Nathan Johnson (Rian Johnson's cousin and frequent creative partner), and Steve Yedlin (cinematographer of Johnson hits such as "Looper," "Brick," and "Glass Onion"). Wherever Johnson ventures, Yedlin seems to follow, adapting his cinematic prowess to the smaller screen despite any Peacock-imposed constraints akin to those of Netflix. If Peacock imposed any such limits on Yedlin, he has cleverly circumvented them. "Poker Face" looks nothing short of spectacular. It boasts the depth, texture, and nuanced quirks of a feature film. An early crash zoom onto Bratt's face elicited an involuntary chuckle, as did a shot of a dashboard trinket swaying rhythmically after a car door slammed shut. While this may not be groundbreaking cinematography, it speaks volumes about the decline in the opulence of prestige TV. Within the first five minutes of "Poker Face," I felt the rare exhilaration of witnessing something crafted with obsessive dedication.
The show's evocative, lo-fi soundscape—an ambient din tinged with echoes (reminiscent of "The Conversation")—initially led me to believe the setting was a bygone era. Natalie Hill (Polanco), a weary chambermaid, pushes her cart from room to room in the Frost Hotel, a mid-market casino nestled along the scorching, flat Arizona border. The contemporary setting becomes apparent only when Nat catches a glimpse of something on the open laptop of Kazimir Caine, a high roller whose patronage is crucial to the Frost's success, causing her to bolt into the hallway. We never ascertain the exact nature of what she saw, but it must have been dire indeed, for hotel maids are all too familiar with grueling experiences.
Initially, the mystery of the week in Johnson's ode to TV detectives remains shrouded in ambiguity, as we witness the unfolding events in their entirety. We observe Nat confiding in Cliff, the casino security chief portrayed by Bratt, about her recent observations. We see Sterling Gates Jr., the casino manager enacted by Brody, erasing photographic evidence from Nat’s phone to safeguard his high-roller client. We even bear witness to Cliff dashing to the humble abode shared by Nat and her degenerate, abusive spouse Jerry, with the intention of eliminating them both and framing it as a murder-suicide. To my astonishment, the flaws in their hastily conceived cover-up seemed glaringly apparent! Surely, the casino floor, replete with surveillance cameras, must have captured Nat's heated discussion with Cliff. A colleague undoubtedly noticed Nat's unusually aloof demeanor as she hastily departed for her car before her shift concluded. And how will Sterling explain the matter to his secretary, Ginger, who witnessed Nat's distressed state before exiting his office? (Ironically, two of these apparent "holes" will prove immaterial, rendering me woefully unqualified as a TV detective.) The crux of the show's mystery is not what befell Nat, but rather a more abstract, albeit less gripping, inquiry: How will Charlie unravel the sequence of events that led to Nat’s fate? Mimicking its inspiration, Columbo, this tale is not a whodunit but a howdunit.
The timelines in this series are cleverly interleaved, akin to those in the Knives Out films, where crucial details pertinent to solving the case are unveiled in a non-chronological manner, yet never bewilderingly so. Lyonne, with her frantic, fiery orange hair and her gravelly voice that ages like fine wine, can never seamlessly blend into any character she portrays; however, this is not her forte. Her true talent lies in the rich history she imparts to her eclectic array of characters, and Charlie, the romantically neurotic protagonist, is no exception. When she emerges from a mobile home so decrepit it barely qualifies as mobile and vents her frustrations on Twitter about the Russian origins of child pornography, she is fully realized – simply add a bottle of Coors Light to complete the picture.
Charlie is a colleague of Nat’s, serving drinks in a bustier at the same tacky casino where Nat toils as a cleaner. If one might initially consider this occupation beneath someone who can pierce through anyone's poker face to discern truth from fiction, it transpires that she was compelled to take this job under duress. In a bygone era, a more ambitious Charlie embarked on a tour of Midwestern cities, winning mid-stakes games in underground casinos, a streak that came to an abrupt halt when she brought her uncanny prowess to the Frost. Her superhero origin story unfolds thus: Sterling’s father, the real Mr. Sterling Gates and proprietor of the Frost, blacklisted her from American casinos upon recognizing her extraordinary talent. Yet, he knew to keep his adversaries close. Consequently, the most formidable card player in the Wild West now serves drinks to the very men she should be outmaneuvering.
Why does this scenario hold such significance? It's the point where our intricate, treacherous worlds collide. Sterling Jr. has uncovered the fact that Kazimir Caine has been orchestrating high-stakes poker games in the very hotel room that Frost has generously comped! Driven by a desire to school Kaz in etiquette and win his father's admiration, Sterling Jr. devises an elaborate, almost farcical plot to infiltrate Kaz's game with Charlie as his pawn, aiming to relieve Kaz of a few million dollars. He hatches a grandiose scheme, with his loyal enforcer Cliff as his accomplice. They plan to install cameras in Kaz's room, leveraging Charlie's keen instincts—akin to Spider-Man's "Spidey-sense"—to relay to an undercover plant in the game who is bluffing and when to raise the stakes. This plan is overly clever, bordering on absurd. Has anyone pondered the simplicity of merely, politely requesting Kaz to cease his operations and foot the bill for his own accommodations?
Regardless, Nat stumbles upon this deceitful conspiracy after the scheme to swipe Kaz's money has been conceived, yet before it comes to fruition. This unfortunate discovery ultimately costs her her life, sacrificed to safeguard this preposterous poker caper. The remainder of the episode revolves around Charlie piecing together what we, the viewers, are already privy to. Charlie and Nat aren't merely colleagues; they are inseparable best friends. Following Jerry's brutal assault on Nat over some inappropriate photos she discovered, she sought sanctuary at Charlie's place. The town sheriff handling Nat's case isn't incompetent, but the pattern—an abusive spouse, two corpses, a gun in the residence—is too neat for him to delve into a thorough investigation. However, Charlie can detect deceit even if she hasn't yet pinned it down.
A series like this thrives on coincidence.The litmus test for how gratifying "Poker Face" proves to be lies in how organically these coincidences unfold. That Charlie's next-door neighbor, a petty thief adept at lock-picking who owes her a favor, enables her to break into her deceased friend's home to uncover a backup of the photos Sterling deleted from Nat's phone on another cloud-synced device? Hardly compelling! A broken window would suffice! That the password to access this cloud-synced device coincides with Nat's locker combination, which Charlie learns from a coworker who gives it to a policeman to spare him the trouble of using bolt cutters on a fully functional lock? We're moving in the right direction. That Charlie recalls Jerry, on a night he stalked his wife at work while intoxicated and armed, holstering his gun on his right ankle, revealing his left-handedness? Uncanny. And her subsequent synthesis of this memory with an observation from a crime-scene photograph she insistently peered at while pestering the sheriff, depicting the potential murder weapon in Jerry's cold, right hand? Yes! Now, we're really heating up! (Though, I realize, we shouldn't actually cook with gas in such a manner.)
All Charlie needs to connect the dots is a single, potent cup of coffee, one that ignites her detective instincts. She delves into security footage, uncovering Cliff's subtle maneuver of relieving Jerry of his gun on the night Jerry stalked Nat into the casino. Her innate lie-detection skills affirm that Jerry never retrieved it, implicating Cliff as the sole individual who could have returned the weapon to the house on the fateful night of the murders. A delicate game of cat-and-mouse ensues.
Charlie grills Cliff and Sterling about her suspicions, who, aware of their guilt in her friend's demise, resort to intimidation, compelling her to participate in their elaborate scheme to ensnare their elusive prey. Yet, for much of the episode, this mystery unfolds with minimal peril. Sterling, the pampered yet emotionally starved scion yearning for his father's approval, hardly poses a credible threat to Charlie's astute mind.
Rejected by Charlie early on in the pilot regarding the cover-up of Nat's death, the narrative pivots to the intriguing question of how she will exact revenge on Sterling Jr. once she inevitably outwits him. However, Charlie proves herself far from angelic. Upon discovering an incriminating photo on Kaz's computer, revealing what Nat had seen, she strikes a deal with an unknown adversary, warning him of a rigged private game, thereby shattering Frost Casino's reputation beyond repair. Gamblers, as the show repeatedly emphasizes, are a chatty lot.
Sterling, unable to bear the impending disapproval from his father, opts for a drastic exit, leaping from the balcony of his penthouse office to the pavement below. Charlie, stunned, dashes out of the office but not swiftly enough to evade Cliff's bullet. Though wounded, she manages to flee the hotel before the police arrive—police whom Sterling Jr. brazenly boasted of having in his pocket.
To reinforce her moral compass, albeit flexible, Charlie emails the photo of Kaz's computer to those she believes will take action: the town sheriff, the FBI, the CIA, and even Oprah. In summation, the episode serves as an entertaining, low-stakes jaunt, its stakes remaining low due to Sterling's smug incompetence, incapable of projecting genuine danger. The real threat emerges post-case, in the form of a phone call from the genuine Mr. Sterling Gates, a grief-stricken father vowing to hunt Charlie to the ends of the earth for revenge. Presumably, his quest won't require distant travels. Charlie promptly smashes her phone and dashes to her beat-up car, yet its condition suggests it will barely carry her to the next town, where a new case, a fresh adventure, awaits.
