Tee Vee Casualty: Taylor Sheridan’s *Landman*

Paramount Plus’ red state auteur sets his sights on the West Texas oil patch, starring Billy Bob Thornton

“No, I want a cigarette and a Dr. Pepper”: Billy Bob Thornton as Tommy Norris in Landman (Pic: Paramount Plus)

Taylor Sheridan has become television’s king over the last few years, with hits like Yellowstone, 1883, Mayor of Kingstown, Tulsa King, and 1923 under his belt, all for Paramount Plus. His work in creating expansive, gritty narratives has resonated with a massive audience, and many have come to see him as the industry’s new "golden-boy" showrunner. His blend of Western drama, family dynamics, and complex characters has drawn a lot of attention, and, let’s be honest—Landman is no exception, further cementing his dominance in the genre. He’s basically superseded both Ryan Murphy and Aaron Sorkin, who once defined TV’s prestige auteur status, with his own brand of genre-defining storytelling.

However, despite his success, there are certain aspects of his narrative technique that are troubling.

He’s become the anti-Sorkin, wielding The West Wing creator’s tools: rapid-fire dialogue, political themes, and character-driven plotting. He’s also the anti-Murphy. Where Murphy thrives on spectacle, camp, and subversive exploration of societal norms, Sheridan brings it all back to the raw, grounded, and often brutal realism of everyday struggles, particularly in the American heartland. Sheridan’s approach is far more straightforward, with characters navigating tough moral dilemmas, in contrast to Murphy’s focus on spectacle and dark humor. Where Murphy uses excess and grandiosity to make bold statements about power and identity, Sheridan uses the stark, rugged backdrop of the American landscape and the complexity of his characters to reflect broader political and cultural divides.

Landman stars Billy Bob Thornton as Tommy Norris, a seasoned crisis manager for the fictional M-Tex Oil. He’s as smooth as Irish butter encased in Astroglide when it comes to navigating the treacherous waters of the West Texas oil industry, including managing brewing tensions with a Mexican drug cartel from whom M-Tex leases land. Norris answers to M-Tex president Monty Miller, played by Jon Hamm in what feels like a cameo role, given how brief his screen time is each episode. Miller has an underlying heart condition that adds depth to his character arc. His condition ultimately takes him out by the season’s end, clearing the way for Norris to assume full control of M-Tex. This shift propels Demi Moore’s Cami Miller from Monty’s largely absent wife to a key player in the oil patch’s intricate dynamics, now that she essentially co-runs the company with Tommy.

While the plot holds strong, Sheridan’s personal politics are hard to overlook and occasionally overshadow the narrative. His work always carries a gravelly intensity—he’s adept at making you look at a landscape, real or metaphorical, and see the darkness lurking beneath. It's not just about what happens, but about why it matters. This tension between the story’s grip and its political undercurrent is ever-present.

Sheridan’s skillful narratives draw you in with fully realized characters, settings, and plots. But then, BAM! His message hits you like a freight train. There’s always a scene in every Sheridan drama where some character schools the "egg-headed liberal" on why their views don’t hold up in the “real world.” In Landman, it’s a recurring theme, with Tommy Norris constantly clashing with eco-warrior corporate lawyer Rebecca Falcone, portrayed by Canadian actress Kayla Wallace. Their interactions almost feel like Sheridan schooling us on why we’re wrong. After a while, it starts to feel a bit gratuitous—maybe it’s the egg-headed liberal in me. But after a while, it feels almost like being bludgeoned over the head every five minutes.

Sheridan uses the art of storycraft to push a clear red-state, anti-liberal agenda. There’s precedent for this, of course—Star Trek, The West Wing, and even punk rock, for that matter. But the messages in these examples are typically left-leaning or liberal (unless we’re talking about Oi!, in the latter case). So, does this make Taylor Sheridan’s shows subversive? Or are they propaganda? And is the dividing line simply whether the message leans left or right?

However, as much as Sheridan's political agenda is woven into his shows, his portrayal of female characters feels much less nuanced. Norris’ daughter Ainsley (Michelle Randolph) and ex-wife-turned-back-into-his-wife Angela (Ali Larter) are Landman’s prime examples. You’re supposed to dislike them, but then halfway through the season, they go volunteer at a nursing home and you’re left wondering if you’re supposed to suddenly see them as sympathetic. The character development of these women doesn’t feel as fleshed out as the male characters, which is frustrating.

On the other hand, Landman boasts some really compelling roles. Most notable are Norris’ son Cooper (portrayed by Jacob Lattimore) and Paulina Chávez’s character Ariana, the young widow of a co-worker who perished in a rig explosion. Their subplot, which starts with a tragedy involving an entire Mexican family dying in a rig explosion, humanizes the entire show, especially as the idealistic Cooper unveils his plans to begin his own, more ethically-run oil company. This becomes the human heart of the show.

The casting, as always in a Taylor Sheridan drama, is exceptional. Thornton is always gonna be great in anything he does, but he grinds exactly one gear—Sling Blade aside. Like every other Billy Bob Thornton role, Tommy Norris is gruff and world-weary. He speaks his mind sharply and doesn’t back down. That’s not a complaint, though. The man knows how to make that character his own, so much so that I swear I’ve heard some of his lines in multiple films. “Wish in one hand, shit in the other—see which one fills up first,” for example. That exact line has made its way into at least three of his past projects, but it always works.

Thornton’s Tommy Norris knows no fear, no hesitation. In one of the more insane displays of his nerviness, Norris faces down the Mexican cartel—tied up and with a burlap sack over his head—and still manages to outsmart his captors. But it doesn’t stop there. In the second episode, after an explosion at the rig—the same one that killed an entire crew, with son Cooper being the only survivor—Norris smashes his pinkie while trying to shut off a valve. When the local sheriff at the scene asks if he wants to ride in the ambulance taking Cooper to the hospital, Norris looks at him like he's out of his mind and says, "No, I want a cigarette and Dr. Pepper." He doesn’t even bat an eye. Once he’s finished his cigarette and soda, he drives himself to the hospital, where, after being told they need a surgeon to reattach his finger, Norris simply opens his pocket knife, cuts the damn thing off himself, and quips, "There— I found a surgeon!" Talk about unflinching.

But here’s the thing with Landman—it’s more than just Thornton doing what Thornton does. The writing here is strong, and like most of Sheridan’s work, it’s a slow burn that’s all about building characters who, for better or worse, become real people. The setting—West Texas oil country—feels real. As someone who grew up in the South Texas oil patch, it resonates with me—Sheridan captures the atmosphere of the industry with a rawness that’s hard to find. His portrayal is hellaciously accurate, maybe to the point of being uncomfortable. But it’s the gospel truth. Neither Sheridan nor Landman holds back.

The Fine Print (And Why It Matters)

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FRIDAY: Elegy for Marc Campbell

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