“North of North” Carefully Balances Darkness and Charm

Ramy Youssef once said that the more specific something is, the more universal it becomes. His eponymous series, about the lives of Egyptian immigrants in post-9/11 America, is deeply relatable to folks whose families hail from Jamaica, Greece, India (including this writer), and beyond. “North of North,” Netflix’s newest series, is set in Nunavut’s Ice Cove and follows a similar principle. With a few dashes of “Reservation Dogs” and “Parks & Recreation,” the series is a mostly winning exploration of Inuit culture, the stressful limitations of life in a small town, and the heartbreaking intersection between who you are and who you want to be.

Anna Lambe stars as Siaja, a perky 26-year-old woman who has, in the eyes of some, just blown up her life. Fed up with her arrogant husband, town golden boy Ting (Kelly William), she leaves him and moves into her mother Neevee’s (Maika Harper) house with their six-year-old daughter, Bun (an adorable Keira Cooper). Complicating matters are Siaja’s lack of income (she hasn’t worked since Bun’s birth), the swift judgment of Ice Cove—various women immediately turn up to Ting’s doorstep with casseroles and sympathy, while mocking Siaja’s decision—and the arrival of Alistair (Jay Ryan) and Kuuk (Braeden Clarke), government analysts from Ottawa who are visiting to issue a report about the town’s suitability for a new Arctic research station.

Desperate, she turns to Helen (Mary Lynn Rajskub), Ice Cove’s town planner, for a paid position as a program coordinator. As vibrant as their town is, cultural events are limited to the spring (Siaja explains the vibe is “Hey, winter didn’t kill us!”), and Siaja believes the town deserves more year-round activities to keep residents engaged. Rajskub is pretty spot-on as the sort of white woman who fully believes she understands the Indigenous community in which she lives but has, at best, a surface-level understanding and care for its customs and values (and is mainly in this job to buffer her ego). Dubious about Siaja’s goals and abilities, Helen hires her as an executive assistant instead.

Various hijinks ensue, including an accidental death, a baseball game with a rival town (a la the battle between Pawnee’s Leslie Knope and Eagleton’s Lindsay Carlisle Shay), a mad dash to prepare a winning presentation to land the research station, and multiple revelations about Siaja’s family background. But the most arresting part of its narrative is how thoughtfully it blends the light—vibrant costumes that feel loved and lived-in, including some extraordinary jewelry; customs that are both whimsical and spiritual—with the dark. Ting comes off as a himbo at first but is later revealed to be a petty, emotionally unavailable, and manipulative husband and father. It’s a testament to the writers’ room that this reality is disclosed subtly, which underlies how much this type of entitled male behavior can fly under the radar when everyone considers you the town hero. 

Lambe and Maika Harper have perhaps the series’ most convincing on-screen collaboration. Their dynamic, heavily informed by Neevee’s alcoholism during Siaja’s childhood, is prickly, for the daughter felt she had to parent her own mother. Harper steals the show in quieter scenes, struggling with intimacy and honesty, testing her bonds with people she loves because she, unbeknownst to anyone, is operating from a place of profound fear and guilt. A particularly moving subplot involves the terrible history of abusive residential schools, where Indigenous children, kidnapped from their families, were sent to be homogenized into white colonial culture. Siaja, too, like women all over the world, is aching for an identity outside being a wife, mother, and daughter. You can’t help but root for Lambe, as she plows ahead with ideas that frequently have to battle reality, but her efforts are noticed and appreciated. That she doesn’t know what this new life should look like is part of the struggle, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth undertaking.

In addition to exploring the lives of its characters, “North of North” has much to say about the daily trials of human life at work, at home, in a place at the mercy of nature. There’s a hole in the town planning office wall; a water bubble on the ceiling has existed longer than Siaja’s tenure in the office; the townspeople’s lives are directly affected by the fickle nature of snowmelt because permafrost isn’t as permanent as it used to be. None of this is highlighted with zeal; it’s just life.

But peppered throughout these battles are warm interactions with community elders (“North of North” features multiple Inuit languages), funny in-jokes with coworkers (Zorga Qaunaq and Bailey Poching provide a hilarious, drier-than-the-desert dynamic as droll town employees Millie and Colin, respectively; Colin is Maori but is integral to life in Ice Cove, proving Sterlin Harjo’s thesis about how Indigenous communities the world over are often quite alike), and barbs, casual and clever, about battling the white man and the long-term effects of colonization. 

Like “Reservation Dogs,” “North of North” doesn’t feel the need to explain everything. I am so grateful that contrary to the wave of literalism in film/TV, this series does not bother providing an Inuit Life 101 guide to its viewers; as you watch all eight episodes, you’ll catch on. With terrific direction and editing geared for comedy (“Walrus Dick Baseball,” directed by the talented Renuka Jeyapalan, is a particular standout), the action feels fresh, and the soundtrack, which features Britney Spears, Alanis Morrisette, and covers of famous pop songs in Indigenous languages, provides greater texture and exuberance. Yes, sometimes the writing falters, but never in a way that makes you want to give up on these characters. Whether you hail from an Indigenous reservation in America, a small town, or just a run-of-the-mill dysfunctional family, “North of North” will draw you in and hold you close.

Whole season screened for review. Now on Netflix.