TL;DR: If you like your crime thrillers with big bell-bottoms, big personalities, and even bigger car chases, Duster is the TV hit of the summer you’ve been waiting for. It’s a groovy, chaotic, unapologetically stylish series that fuses classic 1970s pulp with sharp modern character writing. Holloway and Hilson are dynamite together. The show is as much a vibe as it is a plot—and it mostly works.

The pitch for Duster reads like someone found an old Elmore Leonard novel wedged between a stack of Starsky & HutchDVDs and a Quentin Tarantino screenplay and thought, “Why not do all three?” Created by J.J. Abrams and LaToya Morgan, Duster is a retro crime caper filtered through every grainy, slow-zoom lens in existence, and it somehow feels both familiar and original.

Set in a dusty, corrupt corner of 1972 Arizona, Duster centers around Jim Ellis (Josh Holloway), the go-to getaway driver for a local crime syndicate run by the ruthlessly charming Sax (played with velvet menace by Keith David). But the show throws us into the story not through Jim, but through the eyes of Nina Hayes (Rachel Hilson), a newly minted FBI agent and the first Black woman to work at her bureau office. What follows is part infiltration thriller, part buddy comedy, and part Americana gritball.

Josh Holloway Is the Vibe, Rachel Hilson Is the Engine

There’s no question that Holloway has presence. He exudes the same rakish charm he brought to Lost, but it’s aged like whiskey: a little smokier, a little sharper. He doesn’t have to do much to hold the screen—he just shows up in a too-tight tee, squints into the desert sun, and boom: you’re sold.

But Hilson? Hilson is the show’s secret weapon. Nina is driven, smart, and constantly navigating an oppressive workplace. Hilson brings nuance and grit to a role that could have easily been reduced to the “idealistic fed” trope. Her chemistry with Holloway is immediate but not overcooked. They’re not romantic partners (yet?), but their mutual respect and snappy banter make them one of the best odd couples TV has seen in years.

Aesthetic Overdrive

From the opening credits—which look like someone crashed a Hot Wheels set into a VHS tape—to the throwback soundtrack of funky riffs and vinyl-crackled soul, Duster lives and breathes its era. You get the sense that every frame was art-directed within an inch of its polyester life.

And it works. The cars are loud. The violence is pulpy. Even the punches have that “Batman ‘66” thunk. There’s a real Looney Tunes energy to parts of it that make it feel like the creators know exactly how over-the-top things are getting—and they’re loving it.

Subtext in the Smoke

Here’s where Duster surprises you: beneath all the retro stylings, it’s trying to say something. Nina faces discrimination from her colleagues, and her partnership with Awan (a half-Navajo agent played with sincere charm by Asivak Koostachin) opens up explorations of identity, tokenism, and the complex relationships marginalized people have with institutions that have historically oppressed them.

Some episodes lean into this material more effectively than others. At times the tonal swing from slapstick shootout to racial commentary can be jarring. But when it works, it deepens the show’s core, giving characters like Nina and Awan interiority beyond their plot function.

The Verdict

Duster isn’t perfect. It’s a little uneven, it’s occasionally self-indulgent, and its dedication to vibe over plot can leave some episodes meandering. But none of that overshadows how damn fun it is. There’s something joyous about a show that swings big and embraces every part of its aesthetic. It’s like if The Nice Guys, Breaking Bad, and Shaft had a lovechild and raised it on gas fumes and disco.

More than a nostalgia trip, Duster is a smart, stylish blast with something to say and the confidence to say it between car crashes. If Max keeps this up, they might just make weekly TV feel essential again.