Pok­er Face is a plea­sur­able throw­back to the gold­en age of television

“I got­ta say, it sounds like I was born in the wrong time.” Uttered by human lie detec­tor Char­lie Cox, these lines might as well refer the actor who plays her: the throaty-voiced, wild-haired Natasha Lyonne. Lyonne’s cool­ness lies in her resis­tance to trends – high-waist­ed jeans, vocal fry, she’ll have none of it – and, para­dox­i­cal­ly, that’s the source of her ver­sa­til­i­ty. There is no ​“wrong time” for Lyonne. One imag­ines she would be as com­fort­able, or cool­ly uncom­fort­able, in a Cas­savetes film or a 1930s com­e­dy of remar­riage as she proves to be in a mind-bend­ing time-trav­el dram­e­dy on Net­flix. When Lyonne’s tal­ents are pooled with those of showrun­ner Rian John­son, a writer-direc­tor con­stant­ly ref­er­enc­ing, look­ing back toward, or play­ful­ly burn­ing down Hol­ly­wood leg­end, the result is bound to be a media-lit­er­ate blast.

Pok­er Face is Lyonne and Johnson’s first col­lab­o­ra­tion, and it is a grat­i­fy­ing throw­back to the net­work how­catchem (as opposed to the pres­tige who­dun­nit), as rein­vent­ed for the stream­ing mil­len­ni­al on-the-go. Snarky, queasy Search Par­ty it is not: Colum­bo is its most obvi­ous ​“invert­ed detec­tive sto­ry” pre­cur­sor. In Pok­er Face, as in Colum­bo, episodes begin with a 10 to 15-minute open­er, show­cas­ing some big-name guest stars and cul­mi­nat­ing in a mur­der. Then the action back­tracks, and the audi­ence sees how street-smart drifter Char­lie – a sleuth who is def­i­nite­ly ​“not a cop” – fits into the sto­ry as ini­tial­ly pre­sent­ed. Charlie’s gift for sniff­ing out liars is matched only by her ​“Lady Gal­la­had” instincts, which is to say, she can’t leave killers well enough alone. After all, by her own account, she knows when peo­ple are lying, but she doesn’t always know why.

This is a show that knows what it is, and what it isn’t. Through­out the series, ref­er­ences to its mys­tery media com­pa­tri­ots abound: the hokey pro­ce­dur­al sit­com (com­i­cal­ly titled ​“Spooky and the Cop”), the mur­der pod­cast, and the Nordic snow noir. Pok­er Face, like its main char­ac­ter, offers an orig­i­nal col­lec­tion of tal­ents, not the least of which is a lead who man­ages to be affa­ble with­out los­ing her edge, not to men­tion a keen sense of place and mood. Much of the show takes place ​“on the road,” as Char­lie trav­els from town to town. (Her tal­ent for root­ing out liars with plen­ty to lose, togeth­er with her keen sense of jus­tice, has earned her some dan­ger­ous ene­mies.) Lone­ly radio dee­jays, alien­at­ed mechan­ics, dis­il­lu­sioned retail employ­ees: these are peo­ple who would rather remake their world through false­hood than look around, plain­ly, at their lot. Pok­er Face treats the accom­pa­ny­ing stretch­es of emo­tion­al and lit­er­al desert as Char­lie does — with warmth, care, and humor.

The show is at its best when it leans into its retro vibe and fal­ters when it tries to be explic­it­ly hyper-con­tem­po­rary. The ​“place that time for­got” atmos­phere says more about our cul­tur­al moment than some tooth­less MAGA jokes. (To enjoy how sharp Johnson’s satire can get, switch over to Net­flix for Glass Onion.) Of the six episodes shared with crit­ics (there being ten in total), the supe­ri­or sto­ry­lines have twists root­ed in char­ac­ter rather than coincidence.

The pilot, guest star­ring Adri­an Brody as the slick idiot son of a casi­no own­er, sets up the show’s vibe: delight­ful­ly tense star­ing con­tests, shot in medi­um close-up, in a milieu of pinky rings and geo­met­ric car­pets that prob­a­bly haven’t been cleaned since the 1970s. It prob­a­bly has the sin­gle best end­ing; the fifth episode, set at a seniors’ facil­i­ty and co-star­ring Judith Light and S. Epatha Merk­er­son (both fab­u­lous), as well as Simon Hel­berg, is the fun­ni­est and most shock­ing. Final­ly, Ellen Burstyn turns in a killer per­for­mance of a killer per­for­mance in the sixth episode, with a script that reminds the audi­ence that Char­lie doesn’t just know when you’re lying. She knows, real­ly knows, when you’re telling the truth, which is even more inti­mate and high-stakes. The pathos sure can sneak up on you, even in the cozi­est of cozy mysteries.

A com­fort­ing, smart return to an old­er form of tele­vi­sion that may well be com­ing back (for all any of us know), Pok­er Face affords the unique, unhur­ried plea­sures of the case-of-the-week dram­e­dy, sans the non-stop sex crimes of the Dick Wolf fran­chis­es or the famil­iar rit­u­als of the police pro­ce­dur­al. (And you can for­get about DNA evi­dence — Char­lie works ana­log.) Come, rather, to mar­vel at the nuances of ama­teur inves­tiga­tive work, to keep up rather than to out­pace the detec­tive; come to watch the per­for­mances, or, as Char­lie does, to watch the liars lie.

Just one more thing, as Detec­tive Frank Colum­bo says: Pea­cock intends to drop the first four at once, then once a week. Each episode is self-con­tained, so pace them out for max­i­mum enjoy­ment and min­i­mum redun­dan­cy. To invite you to savor or to ration Pok­er Face seems a bit much, so I’ll say this: trav­el back in time, and ​“tune in.”