Why Every Lesbian Needs Deadloch (2023-) in Their Life Right Now

Deadloch: The Lesbian Crime Comedy That Actually Understands Us

Okay, let’s just say it out loud: I’m completely, hopelessly, ridiculously obsessed with Deadloch, and if you’re a lesbian with a pulse, you will be too.

I binged the entire first season in two nights (yes, I called in “sick” the second day, no regrets), and now that we’re in 2025 and season 2 is officially happening, I’m back on my bullshit screaming about this show from every rooftop (and every gay group chat) I can find.

Deadloch is the Tasmanian murder-mystery comedy created by Kate McCartney and Kate McLennan (the same chaotic geniuses behind Get Krack!n), and it is — without exaggeration — the best piece of lesbian television since… honestly, maybe ever.

At the center of everything are Senior Sergeant Dulcie Collins (Kate Box, an absolute goddess) and Senior Investigator Eddie Redcliffe (Madeleine Sami, chaotic gremlin energy personified). Dulcie is a tightly-wound, softly-butch, flannel-wearing lesbian who’s been holding the tiny town of Deadloch together with sheer willpower and passive-aggressive Post-it notes. Eddie is a foul-mouthed, disaster-bisexual-leaning-lesbian mess sent up from Darwin to “help” solve a string of murders during the town’s precious winter festival.

The tension between them? Electric. The slow-burn enemies-to-“I would literally die for you” vibe? Immaculate. The way Dulcie’s voice gets all soft when Eddie does something stupidly brave? I had to pause the show and stare at the ceiling more than once.

But here’s what makes Deadloch different from every other show that teases us with “queer bait” and then runs away giggling: these women are explicitly, unapologetically, gloriously lesbian. Dulcie is married to Cath (Alicia Gardiner, another absolute smoke-show), and their domestic life is so real it hurts — the quiet affection, the eye-rolling at each other’s quirks, the way they finish each other’s sentences while cooking dinner. It’s the kind of married lesbian relationship we barely ever get to see on screen: boring in the best way, solid, sexy, lived-in.

And then Eddie crashes into Dulcie’s life like a wrecking ball made of Red Bull and daddy issues, and suddenly Dulcie — who has spent years being the “responsible one” — is smoking joints in the evidence room and letting Eddie drag her into increasingly unhinged investigation methods. The chemistry is off the charts. I’m talking “I paused the screen to zoom in on Kate Box’s little smirk” levels of gay panic.

What’s wild is how the show never makes the lesbian identities a “plot point.” They just… are. Dulcie isn’t “the lesbian cop.” She’s a cop who’s a lesbian, who’s married, who has a teenager, who loves her dogs, who is exhausted by men explaining things to her (same, queen). The queerness is woven into every corner of Deadloch — from the town’s annual “Feast Fest” being basically Lesbian Christmas to the side characters who are all some flavor of gay (shoutout to Abby the ranger, my sweet himbo angel).

And the comedy? Savage. The show roasts everyone — toxic masculinity, white feminism, rich hippies, small-town gossip — but it does it with so much love for its queer characters. When Dulcie finally snaps and tells a room full of clueless men exactly where to go, I cheered so loud my neighbor texted me to check if I was okay.

Look, I’ve watched a lot of “lesbian” shows that gave us crumbs and called it a feast. The L Word (original run) was messy and iconic but also exhausting. Gentleman Jack was beautiful but historically distant. Everything else either kills us, baits us, or makes us side characters in someone else’s straight story.

Deadloch says: nah. Here’s two middle-aged, complicated, horny, brilliant lesbians front and center, solving murders and falling in love (or at least in very intense like) while the world burns around them. Here’s a whole town full of queer women living their messy, hilarious, authentic lives.

I finished season 1 crying and laughing at the same time during that final scene on the beach — you know the one — and I have never needed a season 2 more in my entire gay life.

So if you’re a lesbian who’s tired of begging for scraps, do yourself the biggest favor and watch Deadloch right now. Dulcie Collins in that police vest could step on me and I’d say thank you. Eddie Redcliffe could rob me blind and I’d help her count the money. Together they’re the lesbian detective duo we deserve in 2025.

Deadloch isn’t just good queer television. It’s the lesbian crime comedy that finally, finally gets us right.

And I for one am never shutting up about it.