Old School. Biblically Independent.
By Dustin Rowles | TV | August 20, 2026
Not a lot of shows can pull off what Reacher manages, season after season. The level of absolute nonsense is beyond the pale, the pile of coincidences is insane, and the conspiracies are nonsensical. But the punches always land, the bodies pile up in spectacular fashion, and it’s always about the friends (and enemies) we make along the way.
That said, the quality of Reacher-ness dipped somewhat in season three, but the fourth season — streaming weekly on Prime Video—feels like a genuine bounce-back. I’m not entirely sure why it feels reinvigorated: it’s the same formula, the same Reacher strut, the same force in those punches. But it does feel more lively and fun this year than anything since the debut. Maybe it’s because the conspiracy at the center of it — after four episodes — still doesn’t make sense, the alliances keep shifting, and Reacher is scrambling more than usual: for answers, away from the cops, and to figure out who he can actually trust.
In what I can only assume is a typical Lee Child setup (I have read zero of his novels), Reacher encounters a woman clutching a bag in the opening minutes of the season. He knows something’s wrong — does she have a bomb? — and when he confronts her, the woman — desperate, terrified — shoots herself dead after Reacher identifies himself. From there, he voluntarily cooperates with the authorities, forms an uneasy alliance with detective Tamara Green (Sydelle Noel), and teams up with the victim’s brother, Jacob (Christopher Rodriguez Marquette), and a conspiracy-minded journalist named Russell Plum (Alias’s Kevin Weisman). Together, they start pulling threads. The conspiracy involves a U.S. Senator, his Chief of Staff, and a woman claiming to be a journalist investigating the torture of civilians in Thailand. Mostly, though, it’s about a MacGuffin — a hard drive with information nobody quite understands but everyone desperately wants, including the CIA and an endless parade of goons for Reacher to dismantle.
Does it make any sense? Not a lick. Do the authorities conveniently vanish between action sequences? Absolutely. Is Reacher still implausibly tall and does he still hit like a Mack truck? Yes to both. Alan Ritchson may actually be the best thing to happen to the action genre since Statham in his prime, and what sets him apart is palpable: there’s genuine joy underneath that stoic exterior and those clipped, economical exchanges. He’s having the time of his life, and it shows.
It’s solid, unpretentious entertainment — good Dad TV, maybe even better Mom TV — and Ritchson is the reason why.
