The multi-faceted project that Taylor Sheridan has constructed within the last decade is unprecedented; having served as the head writer and producer of at least seven major shows, Sheridan’s had his hand in hundreds of hours of entertainment within a tight window. While the rapidness of his output could be compared to Aaron Sorkin during the peak of The West Wing or Matthew Weiner amidst the apex of Mad Men, neither of those creators had to toggle between multiple shows at once, many of which take place within the same universe. The streaming service Paramount Plus may have been launched on the promise of content from Star Trek, South Park, Beavis and Butt-Head, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but it’s been kept alive by the appetite for more Sheridan content.
Given that Sheridan has also taken the time to direct the firefighter action thriller Those Who Wish Me Dead, pen the Jack Ryan spinoff Without Remorse, and produce the historical mini-series Lawman: Bass Reeves, concerns that he has stretched himself too thinly aren’t unfounded. The trajectory of Yellowstone was stymied when its star, Kevin Costner, chose to abruptly exit in order to direct his ambitious, four-part western epic Horizon: An American Saga; the Yellowstone prequel 1883 was surprisingly changed from a “recurring series” to a “limited event,” and its follow-up, 1923, concluded this year to pave the way for the World War II-set 1944.
Outside of the Yellowstone universe, Sheridan’s remained an active part of both Mayor of Kingstown and Tulsa King, both impacted by the unexpected spotlight placed on their stars; Jeremy Renner’s near-fatal snow plow accident rendered him unable to shoot with the immediacy that a Sheridan show requires, and Sylvester Stallone’s increasingly erratic political endorsements have suggested that he’s clashed with his Tulsa King writers over creative control. Sheridan set off on another new venture with Landman, arguably his most entertaining project.
Loosely based on Christian Wallace’s popular podcast Boomtown, Landman has imagined a new American frontier in the oil fields of Texas, in which control over the nation’s most prized export is left to “old money” bloodlines, corrupt local authorities, powerful corporations, and the occasional Mexican drug cartel. Debates about whether the series is an endorsement of the oil business are superfluous, as Landman makes it clear that the industry’s so infused within American infrastructure for a replacement to ever be feasible. Although a quip that the diesel and oil needed to create a sustainable wind turbine “won’t offset the carbon footprint of making it” had raised eyebrows, Sheridan’s point is that the system that currently exists is a fixture of the national economy.
Sheridan’s appeal to “Middle America” is that he’s presented the world as it is, and doesn’t pass judgment on the characters he’s depicted. Landman star Billy Bob Thornton has been an unusual star since Sling Blade, and has found a place on prestige television with the first season of Fargo and the underrated legal drama Goliath. However, the character of Tommy Norris is perhaps the purest distillation of Thornton’s appeal; Sheridan crafted an unapologetic patriarch whose only fault is that he’s forced to place his trust in other people.
As the operational Vice President of an Oil Company and the “Landman” obligated to resolve territorial disputes, Norris is an old-fashioned sheriff and a ruthless neo-liberal shark. Sheridan doesn’t imply that his motivations involve greed, as the strict procedures Tommy has put in place are ostensibly noble; without someone to administer justice to local gangs and avoid federal watchdogs from overstepping their boundaries, the infrastructure of West Texas would become a vacuum for competing insurgencies. Even if he’s the representation of a profession that some would find deplorable, Tommy isn’t a violent anti-hero in the vein of Walter White or Tony Soprano. In fact, Sheridan has dedicated just enough screen time to Tommy’s chaotic family life as his torture at the hands of vicious cartel leaders.
Landman is constructed with the scale of the most expensive of streaming productions, but its adherence to a more old-fashioned “problem of the week” structure is refreshing. Landman can’t be pinned down to one genre because its focus is so erratic; in the span of a single season, there’s a recurring gag about Tommy’s attractive young daughter, a moving exploration on the aftermath of a drilling accident, a legal thriller based on causation and culpability, and a surprisingly tender story between Tommy and his son Cooper, player by breakout star Jacob Lofland. The fungibility of the narrative direction has given Landman little room to be sentimental; nonetheless, those worried that the series has taken itself too seriously should know that the first season includes a subplot about an elderly community supplied with alcohol and a surprise cameo from Jerry Jones.
The anxiety that Landman could run out of steam is unfounded, as despite an open-ended overarching crisis, the series has succeeded with the macro problems introduced along the way. An entire episode dedicated to the National Guard’s infraction with local justice has the attention-to-detail that hasn’t been seen since Breaking Bad. Sheridan’s charm has been that he’s been too generous with his time to be pinned to one project. Landman is the result of an artist whose tastes have been refined, and is willing to bend the rules of storytelling for the sake of entertainment.