The DMZ is unfortunately suffering from one of the biggest disruptions due to the pandemic in a show that has aired. Originally planned as a proper ongoing series for HBO Max, production on the series was halted in March 2020 after filming of the pilot and resumed in late 2021 as a four-episode miniseries. According to showrunner Roberto Patino, this resulted in the DMZ becoming a smaller and more personal story. Under these circumstances, it’s a miracle that the DMZ delivered a focused and cohesive story. It’s just not particularly pleasant.
Loosely adapted from Vertigo by Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli, DMZ follows Alma “Zee” Ortega (Rosario Dawson), a medic from New York devastated by the second American Civil War. In this alternate near future, the country is divided into the Free States of America and what’s left of the United States, and Manhattan is declared a “demilitarized zone”—virtually no man’s land abandoned by both governments, where those who could evacuate remain. and those who could not are forced (or choose) to fend for themselves.
Nearly a decade ago, on Evacuation Day—when Manhattan became a DMZ and many residents tried to flee the city—Alma was separated from her son on her way out, losing him in the DMZ when she got to safety. She has searched everywhere for him over the years, and the series immediately begins with her learning from a reliable source that he may still be in the DMZ, and so sets out on a perilous journey to find him.
Richard DuCree/HBO Max
The DMZ is quick and bad at establishing both its status quo and Alma’s motives. Viewers who want to understand what led to the collapse of the United States and why Manhattan is a demilitarized zone will remain unsatisfied; the rules for this alternate future are vague at best. The series is best approached from a character perspective: Alma searches for her son and travels to the most dangerous place in the country to find him. A place where she has inconvenient past connections.
Despite this personal focus, four DMZ episodes aren’t enough to make Alma’s journey satisfying – the world around her is too rich to ignore. It’s the best thing about DMZ, a series that feels more alive and full of life than many genre shows. Life in the DMZ is dangerous, but not hopeless, a community of black and brown New Yorkers united to get through hard times despite forces outside and inside that would rather they be enslaved one way or another. This danger is personified by Paco Delgado (Benjamin Bratt), a charismatic gang leader in the vein of Warriors’ Cyrus Roger Hill, who seeks to unite the various DMZ sets, and who also established himself as the established DMZ leader in the island’s first election. .
Photo: Richard DuCree/HBO Max
Led by showrunner Roberto Patino, DMZ is quietly turning into a Hispanic story, not only through a selection of Hispanic talent, but also through a focus on characters from Manhattan’s Spanish Harlem neighborhood and Nuyorica culture. This is a show that cares about how people live, about music and slang, and about the rot of machismo that threatens to make this culture toxic. This specificity is admirable – a show in the Hispanic genre that has nothing special about Latinos! — but then again: the rest of the DMZ is here, compelling and full of questions that are hard for the viewer to forget, and for good reason. By necessity, the DMZ is the Alma Ortega show, but other, rambling yet compelling snippets pop up regularly, tugging at what could have been.
Because DMZ could be timely work. The miniseries already has dozens of ideas that are relevant to the moment: it proposes a future in which Americans forcibly tear their country apart, in a present that feels all too plausible. It’s a dystopia about people building communities instead of indulging in clichés about survival. And in the absence of law enforcement agencies leads to interrogation about their need. The list goes on: there is so much room in the DMZ to tell compelling, life-changing stories by focusing on people who would otherwise be forgotten in our popular narratives. You can see their bones here; every 10 minutes, another missed opportunity flickers on the periphery. Instead, the DMZ reflects the country it portrays: full of hope but left in ruins.