Yellowstone’s Dad Makes a Movie So Dumb It’s Basically Performance Art
You know how your boomer uncle thinks he’s a cinematic genius because he watches *Yellowstone* and owns a pair of Ariat boots? Well, Taylor Sheridan—the man who single-handedly turned ranch cosplay into a multi-billion dollar TV empire—has decided to bless Netflix with a new action thriller. And by “bless,” I mean he’s dumped a steaming pile of testosterone-fueled, gravel-voiced nonsense onto your queue, and you’re probably going to hate-watch the entire thing in one sitting.
The movie is called *Something Something Extraction* or *American Pain* or *Lone Star Reckoning*—honestly, who gives a shit? The title is about as forgettable as the plot, which is essentially: “Man with a dark past must do one last job to save his family, but the job goes sideways, and now he has to kill 400 dudes with a Glock he never reloads.”
If that sounds familiar, it’s because Sheridan has been writing the same script since 2015. The only difference is now he’s got a bigger budget and even less self-awareness.
**The Plot (If You Can Call It That)**
So we’ve got [INSERT GRITTY LEADING MAN HERE]—let’s call him “Rusty McBeefcake”—playing a former Delta Force operator who now lives in a cabin in Montana, because of course he does. He’s got a wife who’s way too hot for him, a daughter who rolls her eyes at his toxic masculinity, and a horse that he loves more than any human character.
One day, the wife gets kidnapped by a cartel/terrorist/corrupt oil executive (pick one, it doesn’t matter) who wants Rusty to steal some MacGuffin from a heavily fortified compound. Rusty says “yep” in a whisper that sounds like two boulders rubbing together, saddles up his horse, and proceeds to commit war crimes against a small nation’s worth of extras.
The action sequences are technically impressive—I’ll give Sheridan that. The man knows how to frame a gunfight. But it’s like watching a Michelin-star chef serve you a gourmet plate of dog shit. Sure, the plating is beautiful, but you’re still eating feces.
**The Dialogue: A Masterclass in Saying Nothing**
Sheridan has this weird obsession with writing dialogue that sounds profound but is actually just people stating obvious things in a low voice. Here are some actual lines I’m pretty sure are in the movie:
- “The desert doesn’t forgive.”
- “You can’t outrun your past, son.”
- “Every man has a price. Mine’s just higher than yours.”
- *Long pause while staring at horizon* “...Yep.”
It’s like someone fed an AI every Clint Eastwood movie and told it to generate a script while having a stroke. The supporting characters are even worse. There’s always a grizzled sheriff who says “I don’t know what you’re involved in, but I don’t want any trouble” before immediately getting killed. And don’t forget the tech guy who’s clearly from a different movie and keeps making jokes that fall flatter than a pancake in a mosh pit.
**The Politics: Because Of Course**
Look, I’m not saying Sheridan is a MAGA hat-wearing lunatic, but the man has never met a villain he couldn’t make vaguely foreign or a hero he couldn’t make vaguely anti-government. The bad guys in this movie are literally called “The Syndicate,” which is code for “non-white people with accents.”
Meanwhile, our hero is a libertarian wet dream—a man who respects no laws, takes justice into his own hands, and solves every problem with violence. It’s the kind of power fantasy that would make Ayn Rand blush. There’s even a scene where Rusty tells a federal agent, “I don’t work for you. I work for my family,” and the audience is supposed to cheer like he just cured cancer.
**The Real Problem: It’s Not Even Fun**
Here’s the thing about dumb action movies—they can be a blast. But Sheridan’s stuff takes itself so goddamn seriously that it sucks all the joy out of the room. There’s no wink to the camera, no self-awareness, no absurdity. It’s just 2 hours of a man with a jawline made of granite staring intensely at things while acoustic guitar music plays.
Compare that to something like *John Wick*, which knows exactly what it is and leans into the ridiculousness. Wick kills a guy with a pencil and we laugh because it’s awesome. Rusty McBeefcake kills a guy with a pencil and we’re supposed to contemplate the futility of violence and the American Dream.
**The Verdict: Watch It or Skip It?**
Honestly, you’re probably going to watch it anyway because Netflix’s algorithm is basically a hostage situation at this point. But if you value your time, skip it and go rewatch *Sicario*—the one good thing Sheridan ever wrote before he got drunk on his own supply.
Or better yet, just watch the trailer. It’s all the best parts (i.e., explosions and horse shots) without the 90 minutes of filler where characters talk about “the land” and “what it means to be a man.”
**Final Thoughts (Not Really, There’s More Below)**
Taylor Sheridan is a phenomenon that I don’t fully understand. He’s the highest-paid showrunner on TV, he owns like 14 ranches, and he’s convinced that every story needs a scene of a cowboy gutting a deer in slow motion. And you know what? Good for him. He found a formula that works, and he’s milking it harder than a dairy farmer in Wisconsin.
But at some point, we have to admit that the emperor has no clothes—or rather, he’s wearing a really expensive Carhartt jacket and nothing else. This Netflix movie is the
Final Thoughts
Having spent years watching Hollywood chase the next big franchise, it’s clear that Taylor Sheridan’s move to Netflix isn’t just a paycheck—it’s a strategic pivot that could finally give his brand of rugged, character-driven action the global reach that Paramount’s walled garden couldn’t provide. The real test, however, isn’t whether he can replicate the *Yellowstone* formula, but whether he can strip away the soap-opera melodrama and deliver the lean, visceral storytelling that made his early scripts like *Sicario* so electrifying. If he can resist the algorithmic pressure to pander, this partnership might just be the shot of adrenaline both his career and the streaming giant’s action slate desperately need.