Landman Review: Oil Cowboy Machismo & A Pitch-Perfect Billy Bob Thornton

The first rule of the Taylor Sheridan-Verse might be something along the lines of "never stop expanding." Sheridan — the auteur, the director, the writer, and most of all, the creator — virtually single-handedly brought us all sorts of screen cowboys in the last decade: contemporary cowboys ("Yellowstone"), traditional cowboys ("1883"), romanticized cowboys ("1923"), and cowboys masquerading as mafiosos ("Tulsa King"). He's done this (and more) in the span of less than 10 years, mostly on television, and it doesn't seem like he's about to stop or take a break any time soon.

His latest venture into Texas, "Landman" — based on Christian Wallace's (who's a co-creator here) podcast "Boomtown" — brings us the oil cowboys, who may not be as vicious of gunslingers as Sheridan's previous characters, but they're just as virile, harsh, and brutal as we'd expect from TV's Marlboro Man. Though the Paramount+ show's premise isn't Sheridan's own creation, he did pen all 10 episodes (from which five were provided for review), and his trademark old-school approach to the material couldn't be more evident. In addition, "Landman" is also the loosest and funniest the writer-director ever let himself be.

The series' plot may involve a handful of characters who get their own arcs, shifting in and out of the narrative as Taylor Sheridan sees them fit, but in essence, "Landman" rests on Billy Bob Thornton's talented and very capable shoulders. He's Tommy Norris, a crisis executive at a multi-billion-dollar oil company, whose job is supervising the rigs and the workers that run them all over West Texas. In practice, this sometimes involves wading off Mexican drug cartels that run their "businesses" on the same land, too. In fact, this is how "Landman" kicks off: Tommy sitting in an empty hangar with a bag over his head while a man next to him gets shot in the head by a cartel member. That scene alone proves that Thornton can dominate any picture even if he has nothing else at his disposal but a voice. His charisma locks you in instantly.

Of course, the bag comes off eventually, revealing a battered, worn, and ragged face that condenses all the stress and trouble that comes with being a landman. Tommy is a chain smoker, a functioning alcoholic, and a divorced man with two (almost) grown-up children. He's also in a stupendous debt due to the business he's in and likely won't ever get out of. He exclusively works for Monty Miller (Jon Hamm doing what he does best), a rich oil industry expert whose influence and authority in the field are adamant and unquestionable. Though the two have a close work relationship, it's far from a smooth one — they both know they need each other but wish that wasn't the case.

On a first impression, "Landman" might come off as a self-serious show that attempts to expose the dark side of the oil business and its geopolitics (which is partly true), but Sheridan loosens up the pressure quite early on. Thornton's protagonist is a cross between his "Bad Santa" character, Lorne Malvo from "Fargo," and a rough but soft-hearted dad who can hardly ever say no to his children. Even so, he won't shy away from hitting everyone in the face with harsh truths and on-point opinions that are often hysterical. The witty and drily sarcastic way he delivers those lines permeates the whole series, making it more entertaining than it has any right to be.

Just like in "Yellowstone," family plays a big part here, too, as Tommy's kids and ex-wife resurface in his measured life and start changing everything around them. At this point, Taylor Sheridan can evoke the macho Western atmosphere with his eyes closed, but what he adds here to that proven recipe is a flavor of "Texas forever!" vibe borrowed from NBC's cult-classic sports drama "Friday Night Lights." This soapy, heartfelt quality might not please the creator's regular fanbase completely, but if you're into the sort of domestic melodrama it offers, you'll be in for a great time.

Through snappy dialogues and captivating monologues, it's abundantly clear that Sheridan was having a blast writing these characters (especially Tommy). He revels in a character-driven plot even if that inadvertently exposes how barebones certain parts of the story are, sometimes grasping at straws to create twists out of thin air. These can feel like somewhat contrived and manufactured cliffhangers rather than genuine to-the-bone surprises. But to balance the jokes, the heavy sarcasm, and the facetious one-liners, Sheridan also renders his usual bravado through these hard-working people. Covering both sides of the oil business, we get to see how roughnecks operate, bond, and support their own when a few of them get killed in the middle of the night in an accident at work. On the other end, there's Monty, always grinding for profit and treating his workers as data and collateral damage at best. And then there's Tommy, the middle man, making sure everyone gets what they want and deserve, including himself.

If there's one thing that feels like a total misfire here, it's the use of soulless stadium country music that does no justice to the competent direction and cinematography. As an inept soundtrack, it betrays the grimy and dangerous atmosphere the show is clearly going for and usually nails with aplomb. (Bear in mind, these songs might change once the episodes get their final version as opposed to screeners).

Overall, based on the first half of the season, Paramount+'s "Landman" feels like a perfect fit in the Sheridan-Verse. Once again, Sheridan confidently delivers an old-fashioned and gritty melodrama populated with tough-as-nails men and women who never back down from achieving whatever goals they have in mind. This time, however, things happen to be slightly lighter and funnier than expected from an auteur who built his TV career on uncompromising, bleak, and violent characters trying to survive in a cruel and unfair world.

"Landman" premieres on Paramount+ on November 17.