Dear White People Review: Season 3 Is Funnier, Snappier, and Shadier Than Ever

As charming as Dear White Peoplewas in its previous two seasons, the sharp Netflix satire never hid its confrontational spirit. Though one of the show's central in-jokes has always been how its triggering title and sanctimonious hero Sam (Logan Browning) obscure the fact that it skewers everybody's thoughts about race, its clever, slick humor couldn't make the topic less intense. Talking about race scares and exhausts some people, and with hard storylines like last season's intense fight between a white guy and his black girlfriend, Dear White People could only sweeten its medicine so much. Up 'til now, it's been a serious show that happened to be funny. In Season 3, the formula flips: Dear White People is a very funny show with serious stories to tell, and it's more enjoyable than ever.

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To be clear: Dear White People isn't better because it's not brimming with racial tension. There's a place for gloves-off, high-minded humor about America's least favorite topic, and DWP excels at it. But DWP is now a lighter, funnier, more relaxed version of itself, with more of an emphasis on characters' internal conflicts. Sam isn't even hosting hosting her "Dear White People" radio show anymore. The social commentary is still there, but the fully realized characters are now engaged in universal experiences like grieving a deceased parent, discovering sex, and doing the right thing, as opposed to putting out the metaphorical and literal fires inflamed by racial tensions. The jazzy direction is even dreamier, the one-liners are snappier, and the pop culture references are shadier ("Kanye? I'm not paying attention to him. I love myself now," says Marque Richardson's Reggie), making Season 3 a confident, airy frolic.

Off her campus radio show, Sam is grieving her dad and trying to finish a disaster of a school project. She's turned day-to-day duties on the show over to fan fave Joelle (Ashley Blaine Featherson), who, let us all rejoice, gets more time in the spotlight in the first few episodes of the season. Joelle, like her boo Reggie (Marque Richardson), is nearly as burned out as Sam, while Gabe (John Patrick Amedori), Sam's (white) boyfriend, also finds himself stretched thin, struggling to make ends meet.

Nearly all the heavy commentary linked to Sam and Gabe's interracial relationship is gone this season, allowing them to just be: to tease each other, make love, and quarrel as people rather than archetypes. They're very cute. A similar breeziness is extended to the other white characters who, last season, integrated Winchester's once all-black dorm. Except for some occasional side eye for trying to be too woke, the white students have been sort of warmly folded into the black family -- invited to the cookout, as the kids say -- and the vibe feels overall way more relaxed. There is some static after Troy Fairbanks' (Brandon P. Bell) white editor at the campus satire zine twists an article Troy wrote out of context, but here, as well as in another story, a white ally becomes just that, keeping a certain calm in place.

Viewers will debate for themselves whether the kumbaya vibes betray the spirit of the show, but the unpredictability of the writing choices, combined with the weight of the real world, makes this season's stories a refreshing respite. Giggling ensues when nerdy Lionel (DeRon Horton, in primo form this season) explores his sexuality vis-à-vis underground gay sex parties and an alter ego who writes trashy erotica under a pseudonym. And in its most jaw-droppingly funny TV show parody yet, Dear White People lampoons The Handmaid's Tale with devastatingly funny jokes I wouldn't dare ruin in advance.

Of course, Dear White People doesn't let viewers leave without contemplating the great issues of the day. Of particular focus this season is "cancel culture" and how African Americans specifically work through it. Blair Underwood guest stars as a returning professor, Moses, a Silicon Valley expat who enchants a disillusioned Reggie but becomes the subject of a sexual assault investigation. As that plays out, black characters confront Moses' presumed guilt or innocence, recalling conversations black Americans have been having among themselves about figures like Michael Jackson, R. Kelly, and Bill Cosby, whose contributions to the culture grind against distrust of the criminal justice system and the ways powerful men silence women. Unlike Twitter, where everyone is convinced they're right and everyone else is trash, this is a space where everyone acknowledges that there are no easy answers, makes peace with that, and continues to be civil, even loving. It's not real, but it's a cozy dream.

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The third season also has fun with self-referential humor. Sam and Lionel call each other by Scooby-Doo character names in a shaky secret society storyline, and meta jokes about the third seasons of Netflix shows wink at the audience. It can get goofy, and the show's self-awareness doesn't always redeem the narrative. But no one could ever accuse Dear White People of not being thought out. Fans of this series -- especially those versed enough in politics, music, history and culture for the jokes to land -- know that thinking too much, like constantly dialoguing about race, can be a drag. Sometimes even the wokest people need a break from carrying the world on their shoulders, and DWP's third season serves that sweet spot well.

Dear White People Season 3 begins streaming Aug. 2 on Netflix.