Tag: Demi Moore

STREAMING REVIEW:

Paramount+;
Drama;
Not rated.
Stars Billy Bob Thornton, Ali Larter, Jacob Lofland, Michelle Randolph, Paulina Chavez, Kayla Wallace, Mark Collie, Guy Burnet, James Jordan, Colm Feore, Demi Moore, Andy Garcia, Sam Elliott.

In the sprawling, sun-scorched expanse of the Permian Basin — that massive sedimentary deposit in West Texas and Southeastern New Mexico that serves as the beating heart of the American energy empire — Taylor Sheridan has found his latest industrial altar. Season two of “Landman” arrives not just as a continuation of a story, but as a reinforcement of the “Sheridan Formula”: a potent cocktail of blue-collar philosophy, industrial espionage, and the kind of high-gloss artifice that only a massive budget can buy. To understand the series’ relentless entertainment, one must look at the architect himself. Sheridan’s rise to the heights of modern episodic storytelling is the stuff of Hollywood legend; a former actor who pivoted to writing with a visceral trilogy — Sicario, Hell or High Water and Wind River — that reclaimed the American West. Today, he is a prolific tycoon, commanding big stars and bigger budgets by giving the “flyover” heartland a cinematic voice that is simultaneously grounded and operatic.

The second season launches with a seismic shift in the corporate landscape. The ruthless tycoon Monty Miller (Jon Hamm), whose heart finally gave out at the end of the first season, is gone, leaving a power vacuum that Tommy Norris (Billy Bob Thornton) and Monty’s widow, Cami Miller (Demi Moore), must scramble to fill. Now elevated to the presidency of M-Tex, Tommy’s world has expanded from the mud of the oil patch to the leather seats of a corporate jet. He spends the season commanding the skies and his Ford-tough pick-up truck, shuttling relentlessly back and forth between the grit of Midland, the gleaming skyscrapers of Fort Worth, and points in between.

There is a fascinating contradiction at the heart of this production that mirrors the oil business itself. Sheridan has a penchant for casting legends who seem to have embraced the modern Hollywood “look” — from massive Botox and facial reconstructions to showcased boob jobs and meticulously restored hairlines. Yet, despite this aesthetic fakery, “Landman” drips with authentic grit. We follow Tommy as he chain-smokes his way through the stress, navigating a hierarchy that feels like a modern-day caste system. This world becomes even more dangerous with the arrival of Gallino (Andy Garcia), a slick criminal vulture who circles the vulnerable M-Tex like a shark. Garcia plays him with a predatory charm that makes every boardroom scene feel like a hostage negotiation. The season leans heavily into industrial espionage, portraying the high-stakes race to control geological data and bury the $400 million insurance secret regarding Monty Miller’s abandoned offshore well before rivals can use it as leverage to dismantle the company.

For those of us uninitiated in the Texas oil business, season two is a thrilling, educational adventure that shows us how the gears break. Throughout this journey, the legendary Sam Elliott serves as the vital presence of T.L. Norris, Tommy’s estranged father. While he is a constant thread, he enters the fray more prominently following the death of Tommy’s mother, Dorothy. Tommy’s outward reaction is one of cold relief — a survival mechanism born from a traumatic childhood — but T.L.’s presence forces a reckoning with that history, acting as a calming force that balances Tommy’s frantic energy.

This season also highlights a sharp contrast between the “rig grit” of the roughnecks and the “boardroom grit” required to survive the corporate shark tank. Demi Moore’s Cami Miller proves a woman can become a total badass in her own right, asserting dominance in the boardroom.

Adding a different kind of flair is the introduction of a new geologist, Charlie Newsom, played by Guy Burnet. Burnet brings a disarming energy and a now-famous mullet to the role, but one has to wonder if the name Newsom was slipped in for political reasons — a subtle, Sheridan-esque jab given the show’s West Texas setting. He quickly becomes the romantic focus of Rebecca Falcone (Kayla Wallace), a fierce young corporate liability lawyer. Rebecca isn’t looking for a mentor; she is cocky enough to think she can handle the patch with or without help. This creates a delicious friction as she is thrown together with the more experienced corporate lawyer Nathan (Colm Feore). They don’t so much collaborate as they spar, with Rebecca’s modern audacity clashing against Nathan’s patronizing, old-school legal tactics. Their world is further colored by the political climate of the region; Trump is mentioned a few times, and his influence surfaces in petty but telling ways — like the ongoing debate over whether to refer to the “Gulf of Mexico” or the newly branded “Gulf of America.”

Amid the industrial chaos, a softer yet no less complex theme emerges through Cooper Norris (Jacob Lofland) and his earnest quest for stability. Cooper’s desire to get married to his girlfriend, Ariana (Paulina Chávez), becomes a central pillar of his arc — a desperate attempt to anchor himself to a “normal” life while the world around him remains volatile. This craving for a traditional home is ironically juxtaposed against the bizarre “dormitory” man-camp at Tommy’s house in Midland. This residence functions as a glorified frat house where Tommy, Dale (James Jordan), and Nathan live like aging college roommates. The domestic structure is routinely shattered by chaotic, over-the-top themed dinner parties — like the infamous “Pirate Dinner” — that feel more like bacchanals than family meals. In this environment, privacy is a non-existent luxury; it’s not random women in the halls, but the constant presence of Angela (Ali Larter) and Ainsley (Michelle Randolph) — specifically Ainsley, whose striking confidence stops the men in their tracks — that keeps the domestic energy high-strung.

It is this frantic, Midland dormitory life that Angela is hell-bent on escaping. She is determined to up the ante, eyeing massive mansions in Fort Worth to distance herself from the Midland dust and secure a different kind of status. Her focus is entirely consumed by her “mini-me” daughter, Ainsley, who is headed to Texas Christian University (TCU) with singular dreams of becoming a star cheerleader. The move to Fort Worth is driven by the prestige of this religious institution, though it leads to a disastrous interview with the admissions director. During the exchange, Ainsley’s “athletic ascent” is revealed to be less about academic rigor and more about a bizarre “red-pill” theory regarding “super-babies,” a debate the director clearly finds repulsive despite the fact that Ainsley is ultimately admitted simply because the school needs her on the cheer squad. While the men are mired in the grit of the patch, Angela and Ainsley remain the show’s primary friction points, their ditzy shenanigans serving as a silly, sometimes pointless distraction.

Part of the “Sheridan Formula” is his blatant recycling of his favorite actors. James Jordan is the ultimate “Where’s Waldo?” of this universe, while Michelle Randolph and Billy Bob Thornton both have roots in the “Yellowstone” prequels. Ultimately, Sheridan’s genius lies in his unapologetic embrace of the obvious. He knows exactly how to play up clichés and weaponize the familiar. Viewers flock to his shows because he transforms the predictable into exaggerated drama, expertly packaged in layers of industrial grime.

As the story moves through catastrophes and legal firestorms, the pressure remains relentless. By the time we reach the finale, “Black Gold,” it’s clear that season two is less about the oil itself and more about the human cost of extraction.

Looking ahead to season three, one has to wonder if Sheridan’s ambitions aren’t larger than any single studio. Though his massive move to Universal isn’t slated until 2029, the trajectory is already clear; with a Midas touch that has produced an unprecedented volume of popular formulaic content, he seems to be vying for his own network. “Landman” is proof that Sheridan knows exactly how to drill for the cultural zeitgeist. It is a show of contradictions — fake faces in a real world, elite wealth built on immigrant sweat — but it remains a relentless ride that refuses to let go.

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