The following review contains comprehensive spoilers for the initial trio of episodes from "1923" Season 2.
How does Taylor Sheridan manage it all?
That question often comes up when discussing the creator’s ability to have conceptualized and produced eight scripted television series within just over six years. This observation is equally relevant to his present endeavor. most sprawling series, "1923." This show currently maintains at least seven plot threads All these stories involve characters undertaking individual voyages within various settings with minimal interaction among them. Simply coordinating the set construction appears like an enormous challenge, despite some plot lines being filmed at Sheridan’s extensive 6666 Ranch in Texas.
Impressive is how all these narratives revolve around such engaging characters that viewers find themselves eagerly anticipating the next installment of their stories—Sheridan masterfully ensures there’s always something enticing left hanging at the end of each plotline, typically spanning just a handful of minutes per episode. Additionally, it's noteworthy how seamlessly all these different arcs weave together into a cohesive whole.
The emotional shifts that occasionally happened in Season 1 When you transitioned from Teonna (Aminah Nieves), who faced brutal beatings and abuse at an American Indian boarding school, to the exciting and steamy escapades of big-game hunter Spencer (Brandon Sklenar) and aristocrat Alexandra (Julia Schlaepfer) in Africa—a storyline that included a “sex on the beach” episode—it could feel quite disjointed. This time around, however, each narrative thread seems much better connected, even when featuring characters separated by vast distances.
Teonna's plotline during Season 1 held immense significance. Simply because of the minimal representation—if at all—of the mistreatment endured by young Native American individuals in Catholic Church-operated boarding schools in previous American cinema or television shows. ("Sugarcane," the remarkable Oscar-nominated documentary, was still over a year from release when this aired.) In season two, her narrative revolves around freedom. Having murdered the nun (played by Jennifer Ehle), who was her main tormentor within a systematically abusive setup, Teonna has gone into hiding. Currently, she’s taking refuge in Texas alongside her father, Runs His Horse (portrayed by Michael Spears), and Pete Plenty Clouds (acted by Jeremy Gauna, replacing the late Cole Brings Plenty). Given everything she has experienced, the burgeoning romance between Teonna and Pete seems exceptionally heartwarming.
In his series, Sheridan adeptly addresses trauma: The ordeal faced by Teonna was crucial to depict primarily for educative reasons, shedding light on an atrocious reality that remains largely unrecognized within mainstream American society. In contrast, consider the very concise mention in "1883," where Lamonica Garrett’s character, Thomas, hints at his past when Sam Elliott's character comments that nothing is scarier than the unknown; Thomas responds that having grown up as he did, there are indeed worse fears than the unknown. His upbringing involved slavery. However, in this instance, Sheridan understood that depicting Black pain has become excessively common in American media, sometimes bordering on exploitation. Therefore, it made sense merely to refer briefly to Thomas’s history of enslavement without needing graphic flashbacks.
Sheridan excels at demonstrating how individual acts of cruelty connect to broader institutional injustices. In “1923,” when the primary antagonist Whitfield (Timothy Dalton) manipulates two sex workers he employed into turning against each other—with one essentially holding the other captive—this plotline has faced backlash online due to its explicit content and intensity. This scenario exemplifies how influential figures exploit manipulation and mistreatment to sow division among those who might naturally align themselves together. Throughout Sheridan’s works, there consistently exists a link between private and structural forms of brutality.
Simply consider what has transpired with Alexandra. In Season 1, her story arc alongside Spencer was filled with romance and excitement: evading lions while perched atop a tree within the Serengetti, fending off sharks after their tugboat overturned in the Indian Ocean, and facing threats from British nobility aboard an opulent cruise liner, which leads to a dramatic sword fight onboard followed by the lovers' parting ways. Since then, they've each journeyed independently towards America—Spencer arriving in Galveston where he got entangled with local gangsters, and Alexandra reaching New York City.
In Season 2, Alexandra’s narrative vividly portrays how the U.S. historically treats immigrants: subjected to numerous intrusive and humiliating checks, she endures blatant disrespect and humiliation. This peaks during a poignant recitation of a Walt Whitman verse aimed at demonstrating to the dehumanizing officials at Ellis Island that she possesses literacy and valuable talents for American society. No viewer could remain unmoved by her plight—and should they connect with her story, perhaps empathy would extend towards all those immigrants coming to America without ties to prominent families like hers.
Sheridan clearly harbors doubts about government, positioning himself alongside traditional conservatives and diverging from many self-proclaimed modern-day conservatives. This sentiment is evident throughout these episodes. The abundance of despicable New York tycoons driven by real estate aspirations further underscores this viewpoint; Dalton’s portrayal of Whitfield stands out as exceptional.
A segment in the second episode features Whitfield observing members of his Norwegian mining crew engaging in skiing, which prompts him to consider marketing Montana as a travel spot. This exemplifies Sheridan’s overall strategy. Instead of catering to specific political ideologies, Sheridan focuses on enduring conflicts such as those between traditional values and modern advancement, along with environmental preservation versus economic growth. These themes probably irk strict partisan viewers but reflect the nuanced complexities Sheridan aims to capture.
In the scene where Michelle Randolph’s Elizabeth responds aggressively to receiving rabies vaccinations in her abdomen over two weeks, it initially appears to echo sentiments often associated with anti-vaxxers. However, the individual insisting on administering those vaccines is Helen Mirren’s Cara, portrayed heroically both through her acting and how Sheridan writes her into existence within his narrative world. When Cara declares that Elizabeth must endure these treatments, it reinforces the idea of “manning up.” This concept recurs frequently across all series installments; here, Sheridan captures a rarely explored aspect of the vaccination debate—many opponents might reject inoculations out of fear of injections. Additionally, another character faces a procedure requiring a trepanation without anesthesia but demonstrates sufficient resolve to handle such extreme circumstances.
This can be interpreted as follows: Trying to fit someone’s work into predefined political categories is futile, and it's unfortunate that many critics insist on this approach instead of focusing on artistic merit. They should consider individuals beyond their political affiliations or complaints. A common thread running through all of Sheridan's creations is empathy—a wish to demonstrate mutual respect—and shed light on the frequent lack thereof in our interactions. Take the character whose head needs drilling; it’s done to alleviate brain swelling caused by racist attackers who disapprove of his marriage to a Japanese woman. In another scene, when a U.S. Marshal dismisses the possibility of female Marshals after meeting Mamie Fossett (played by Jennifer Carpenter, based on a historical figure who once guarded present-day Oklahoma territory), she retorts by calling him “a bigoted man out of touch with his times.”
Sheridan appreciates complexity, particularly when depicting the humanity—even among those who might be considered complete villains. One standout scene features Father Renaud (played by Sebastian Roché), a Catholic priest whose wickedness rivals any antagonist from previous series due to his mistreatment of both Native Americans at Teonna’s residential school and the nuns working alongside him. In this particular segment, he delves into how African men once governed parts of Europe—specifically referencing the Moors' dominion over Spain and southern France—and contributed significantly to architectural marvels across the region. Despite weaving together various disjointed storylines, Sheridan manages to create moments within his storytelling that stand still; scenes where little action occurs yet everything crucial transpires—an interchange of thoughts takes place.
The deliberate pauses, masterfully implemented by director Ben Richardson in the initial trio of episodes, lend an exceptionally filmic quality to "1923." Despite covering extensive territory, these moments aren’t merely transitional; they carry deeper significance beyond mere narrative progression. This pacing, intertwined with substantial storytelling, creates something truly remarkable. extraordinary production values In each scene, a hydraulic system is featured to make the steerage cabin where Alexandra stays sway as if caught in a violent tempest during her journey to America; this effect only lasts momentarily but adds grandeur. Even without considering Harrison Ford’s contribution, “1923” boasts visuals that rival many contemporary theatrical releases. Adding Ford further amplifies the epic scale reminiscent of classic blockbusters.
Sheridan's prolific work over recent years surpasses even Aaron Sorkin’s intense scripting for the initial seasons of "The West Wing." This series demonstrates an impressive display of a true creator's influence. Sheridan told Deadline In 2022, "Nobody has experienced the liberty I have enjoyed since Robert Evans led Paramount." It should not come as a shock, therefore, that Paramount was the studio ready to grant such generosity.
The fact that he possesses the drive to align with such liberty and assets is precisely what elevates him to Evans’ level. Should “1883,” which stands out among Sheridan’s works for its impeccable structure, be considered his equivalent to The Godfather, then “1923” would undoubtedly parallel The Godfather: Part II—grandiose yet somewhat disjointed, but undeniably a profound individual expression depicted across the broadest conceivable scope. While Coppola delved into themes of inevitable decay and moral decline, Sheridan explores how one can uphold their dignity amidst overwhelming dishonor where everything appears increasingly debased. Despite being rooted in historical settings, “1923” transcends mere escapism; instead, it conveys both timelessness and immediacy. Here’s hoping Sheridan maintains this intricate balance effectively.
Grade: A-
The new episodes of "1923" drop every Sunday on Paramount+ each week. Episode 4 of Season 2 can be streamed right now.
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