‘Yellowstone’ Creator’s New Netflix Thriller Is Just Him Yelling ‘Mountains!’ For 2 Hours
Look, I get it. The algorithm is a desperate, slobbering beast that only knows three things: Chris Pratt’s face, true crime podcasts about women named Karen, and whatever the hell Taylor Sheridan farts out between horse rides. So, when I saw that the ‘Yellowstone’ guy had a new action thriller dropping on Netflix, I did what any self-respecting masochist with a VPN and a superiority complex does. I clicked play. And let me tell you, folks, it’s exactly what you think it is, but somehow, even more.
Forget subtlety. Forget character development. Taylor Sheridan has looked at the modern cinematic landscape and decided, “You know what? Fuck it. Let’s just have a guy with a grizzled beard ride a horse through Montana while a helicopter explodes behind him.” And that, my friends, is the entire movie. It’s called [Insert Generic Title Here: The Reckoning], and it’s less of a film and more of a two-hour-long erection for the American West, scored entirely by the sound of a single acoustic guitar note being strummed aggressively.
The plot? Oh, you want a *plot*? That’s cute. Here’s what you get: A retired, emotionally constipated special forces operator (played by someone who looks like they smell of leather and stale coffee, probably Josh Brolin’s less-talented cousin) is forced back into action when a shadowy corporation (read: “city folk” and “liberal elites”) tries to build a pipeline through his ancestral land. That’s it. That’s the story. There’s no nuance, no moral gray area. The bad guys literally wear suits and talk about “shareholder value.” The good guys wear filthy Carhartt jackets and whisper to their horses like they’re their therapists.
It’s the most Reddit-brained take on class warfare I’ve ever seen. It’s not about rich vs. poor; it’s about rugged individualists vs. anyone who has ever used a spreadsheet. The villain isn’t just evil; he’s a vegan who drives a Tesla. I’m surprised Sheridan didn’t have him kick a puppy just to make sure we all knew who to root for.
But the real star of the show isn’t the plot—it’s the *land*. My god, the land. This movie is basically a 4K nature documentary that occasionally gets interrupted by a gunfight. Every single scene is a sweeping drone shot of some majestic peak, followed by a close-up of our hero’s squinting, sun-worn eyes as he stares at said peak. You could make a drinking game out of it: every time someone dramatically dismounts a horse to have a conversation, chug a beer. Every time the camera lingers on a bison for no reason, take a shot of whiskey. You’ll be blackout drunk by the thirty-minute mark, which is probably the only way to enjoy this pretentious, macho soap opera.
And the dialogue? Oh, honey. It’s pure, uncut Sheridan-ese. Every line is spoken in a low, gravelly whisper, as if the actor is trying to communicate with a deaf person through a mouthful of gravel. “The land… it don’t forgive,” he’ll growl. Or, my personal favorite: “A man ain’t nothing but his word and his gun.” It’s like if a fortune cookie was written by a dude who exclusively listens to Jason Aldean and thinks therapy is for pussies. There’s a scene where the hero’s love interest (a tough-as-nails bar owner who exists solely to be rescued) asks him about his feelings, and he just stares at her for a solid 45 seconds before grunting, “I feel… the wind.” I nearly choked on my own sarcasm.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But the action!” Yeah, the action is fine, I guess. If you enjoy watching a 55-year-old man effortlessly mow down an entire army of nameless, faceless mercenaries who all have terrible aim and seem to be wearing the same tactical vest from Party City. The fight choreography is basically: punch, punch, throw guy through a window, whisper something about freedom, repeat. There’s one decent car chase, but it’s immediately ruined by the fact that the hero is driving a fucking Ram pickup truck and the camera keeps cutting to shots of a bald eagle flying overhead. It’s so on-the-nose that I’m surprised the movie doesn’t just end with the hero literally jerking off onto the Constitution.
But here’s the thing that really grinds my gears. This isn’t just a movie; it’s a goddamn political statement wrapped in a flag and dipped in gun oil. Sheridan isn't here to entertain you; he's here to preach. He wants you to believe that the only true American is a man who lives off the grid, kills his own food, and distrusts anyone with a college degree. The movie is a two-hour-long middle finger to coastal elites, and honestly, as a coastal elite who is currently typing this while sipping a $9 oat milk latte, I feel personally attacked. But also, I’m bored.
The supporting cast is a who’s-who of “That Guy” actors. You got the dude from that one show you can’t remember, playing the corrupt sheriff. You got the chick from the CW drama, playing the tech-savvy daughter who rolls her eyes at her dad’s old-school ways before inevitably learning the value of a good rifle. And of course, you have a cameo from a real-life country singer who delivers his lines with all the emotional range of a parking garage.
Is it the worst thing on Netflix? No. That honor goes to whatever true-crime doc they’re pushing this week. But it’s so aggressively mediocre that it borders on offensive. It’s comfort food for a certain type of guy—the kind who
Final Thoughts
Having watched Sheridan’s brand of testosterone-fueled frontier justice evolve from film to prestige TV, this Netflix pivot feels less like a creative leap and more like a calculated consolidation of his brand—a slick, high-octane distillation of his usual themes for a global streamer. The real question isn't whether the action will be thrilling, but whether the streaming format can contain his sprawling, mythic ambition without diluting the gritty, character-driven specificity that made *Sicario* and *Yellowstone* feel essential. In the end, this is a smart play for Netflix, but for Sheridan, it’s a high-wire act where the risk isn't box office failure, but artistic monotony.