Yellowstone (Season 3)

 

Creators: Taylor Sheridan and John Linson

Starring: Kevin Costner, Luke Grimes, Kelly Reilly, Wes Bentley, Cole Hauser, Kelsey Asbille, Brecken Merrill, Jefferson White, Gil Birmingham, Josh Holloway, Ian Bohen, Denim Richards, Jennifer Landon, Eden Brolin, Forrie J. Smith, Wendy Moniz, Ryan Bingham, Karen Pittman, Q'orianka Kilcher, Michael Nouri, Gretchen Mol, Josh Lucas, Will Patton

Original Airdate: 2020

 
★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)    

 

**The Following Review Contains Major Spoilers For The Third Season of 'Yellowstone' **

 

It was only a matter of time. For the past two seasons the threat of the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch being targeted for purchase by land developers has become increasingly imminent, whether John Dutton (Kevin Costmer) likes it or not. And of course, as we've come to know the character it's been no secret that he'd rather die than give up the ranch left to him by his father and he spent decades operating. Now, it may come to that, as Montana's powerful influential Livestock Commissioner is experiencing somewhat of a fall from grace in the third season of Paramount Network's Yellowstone. Having exhausted nearly every political loophole, bribed politicians and law enforcement and vanquished most of his enemies, it seemed at the end of last season that he'd finally cleared the board and could take a long, deep breath. 

 

You could almost say that peaceful calm appears to have washed over the Dutton patriarch as we start a season that could lead to his ultimate "unraveling," to borrow the title of the two-part first season finale. John's on a downward trajectory, even if he doesn't know it yet, and the rest of the family are fighting their own individual battles, which in the end will converge as one. As they always do. After an action-packed twenty episodes, this season is more of a slow burn, but an equally rewarding experience that results in its most jaw-dropping cliffhanger yet. 

 

We should have seen it coming since every piece of business was leading there, but when the moment does finally arrive, it still somehow lands like a punch to the gut. Everything was leading to this single event, or even more accurately, setting up the big question: "Who Shot John Dutton?" There's no need to mince words or avoid spoilers since the season can't possibly be discussed without acknowledging the giant-sized elephant in the room. All roads lead there since so few of his foes, family or supposed friends have managed to get at him until now. 

 

Cool, calm and collected, John's not someone who can be easily rattled since everyone in his insulated orbit is eventually forced to fall in line and do things his way. Or face the consequences. This season everyone's facing the consequences, with characters that already seemed all figured out pulling the wool over our eyes or pushing past boundaries they weren't aware even existed. If nothing else, it's revealing, placing the Beth and Jamie feud front and center with some big developments that explain a lot, while still leaving us in the final minutes with more questions than answers. But with this series at least we know they will come, and rarely do those revelations ever disappoint. 

After disposing of the Beck brothers and rescuing kidnapped grandson Tate (Brecken Merrill) at the end of last season, John's (Costner) position as Livestock Commissioner is in serious jeopardy, informed by governor and girlfriend Lynelle Perry (Wendy Moniz) that the ambush he led alongside Kayce (Luke Grimes), Rip (Cole Hauser) and the rest of the gang led to an amount of bloodshed that simply can't be brushed under the rug.

 

Agreeing that questions will be asked and investigations conducted, John amicably agrees to resign in an effort for everyone to save face. But as usual, he has his motives, installing Jamie (Bentley) as his replacement after favored son Kayce forcefully rejects the offer, viewing the position as too political for his liking. Priorities soon shift when Beth (Reilly) and Chief Rainwater (Gil Birmingham) agree to team up after uncovering that there are already plans for a new development in the valley spearheaded by the charismatic Roarke Morris (Josh Holloway) of Market Equities. 

 

After a local Native American girl goes missing, Rainwater appeals to Monica's (Kelsey Asbille) commitment to her people, as she dangerously accepts a new mission that concerns Kayce. As the arrival of an old nemesis of John's stirs trouble for Rip and the ranch hands, Roarke starts closing in on the purchase, forcing both Jamie and Kayce to take on new roles to help the family. But with Beth's relationship with Rip moving to the next level, she finally unloads the soul-crushing baggage at the source of her hatred of Jamie. If that doesn't fully rip the Duttons apart, then the secret Jamie discovers about his own past surely will, just as the family are at their most vulnerable. Roarke definitely smells blood, and no one may be able to stop him from going in for the kill. 

There's a lot of maneuvering this season, and at points you could almost literally feel the characters jockeying for position within the family, as writer/creator Taylor Sheridan introduces a new threat, albeit one who initially seems rather innocuous comapred to past baddies. In what must be his most memorable TV role since Lost ended over a decade ago, Josh Holloway brings his sarcastic charm to the role of Roarke, initially presenting himself as someone Beth mistakenly believes can be easily outsmarted, if not for the fact that she's doubting whether the ranch is still even worth fighting for.

 

The Duttons are far from presenting a united front, making it a bit easier for Roarke and his ruthless corporate attorney Willa Hays (Karen Pittman) to chip away at them. In response, John has his players perfectly aligned in the exact positions he needs with Beth on the legal offensive and Jamie installed as Attorney General, which leads to Kayce reluctantly stepping into Jamie's short-lived role as Livestock Commissioner after much coercing. 

 

Ironically enough, Kayce is a natural as Livestock Commissioner, connecting with ranchers in that way Jamie, or even John, couldn't dream of. That he manages to do all this while still upholding the law speaks volumes, especially under these circumstances. While they barely share so much as a scene together, it's still almost impossible not to draw comparisons between Luke Grimes and Josh Holloway, as there are definite similarities in not only their acting style, demeanor, appearance, but the sarcastic, anti-hero characters they've played. Kayce's more of an idealistic straight-shooter than the rougher-edged Sawyer was on Lost, but there's otherwise a lot of overlap there. And now, with Holloway getting the chance to play this full-fledged villain, it'll be intriguing to see Kayce and Roarke eventually cross paths in what's sure to be a memorable acting showdown.  

 

If Kayce truly comes into his own this season and thrives in his new position, Beth seems more vulnerable than ever, still obsessed over her hatred of brother Jamie.  And after much build-up and speculation, we do find out the source of all that resentment in a shocking, powerful flashback that pulls back the curtain on the defining event that triggered the fractured, toxic relationship between the two. 

 

Revealing more about Jamie than we had previously thought possible, episode 3.5, "Cowboys and Dreamers" establishes him at an early age willing to do anything to protect the family name or please his father. Or at least that's what he tells himself when as a teen he not only pressures sister Beth into aborting Rip's baby, but doesn't bother telling her the decision to do so will leave her unable to again conceive. 

 

It's pretty low, even by Jamie standards, completely reframing how to view the enormity of their feud, Beth's bond with Rip and the equally shocking discovery Jamie makes about being adopted. That he accidentally discovers this decades-long secret rather than hearing it from John, sends him into a tailspin, and a mission to track down his birth father, Garrett Randall (played by Costner's The Postman co-star Will Patton). Coming face-to-face with the grizzled ex-addict sent to jail for murdering his biological mother couldn't come at a worse time for Jamie, whose current identity crisis is trumped only by his blinding hatred for step-dad John. 

For Jamie, having another bomb dropped on him that he'll soon be a father as well couldn't come as worse news for someone so incapable of functioning as a responsible human being. Of course, Bentley's excellent as usual at portraying this tortured personality that we still somehow root for him to turn things around, for everyone's sake. But this is the first time where it's gotten so bad for him that the ship may have finally sailed on his potential redemption. Judging from the final few episodes, it seems more likely that his situation will only worsen from here. 

If the season's going to remembered for a single image, it would be a creepy and disturbing scene involving Rip that comes in the finale, the culmination of him proving his loyalty to Beth. I guess. The cemetary-set sequence really has to be seen to be believed, as it's difficult to extrapolate what exactly Sheridan was going for with it. In a lesser series without this one's stellar track record or an actor as talented as Cole Hauser there's no telling how awkward it would have come off. Still, there's no denying that it looks like something you'd sooner see on an episode of The Walking Dead than Yellowstone. 

While that's an extremely odd tonal departure for a show not at all known for it, Jimmy's recuperation from his bronc riding accident and growing relationship with new girlfriend Mia (Eden Brolin) becomes a major focus, as does John's ultimatum that he can't ride rodeo again. It's a decision he wrestles with, right up until the show's final moments, which again place him in a potentially fatal scenario. This guy just has the worst luck, as do Rip and Lloyd (Forrie J. Smith), who are shocked to discover that Walker (Ryan Bingham) is not only still alive after Kayce took him to the "train station," last season but still hanging around performing in bars. This realization, and how he's absorbed back into the ranch with a new mutual understanding of his arrangement is one of the season's biggest highlights. 

After the departure of the only female ranch hand, Avery (Tanaya Beatty) last season, the considerably rougher and tougher Teeter (Jennifer Landon) is brought in to fill that void. While the character gets off to a shaky start as an obvious redneck stereotype, the writers do eventually flesh her out after she and Colby (Denim Richards) are viciously attacked by Roarke's henchmen. But a potentially more interesting and higher stakes character is introduced with the arrival of Rainwater's cold, calculated lawyer Angela Blue Thunder (Q'orianka Kilcher), a mastermind dead set on doing anything to stop Roarke from developing on that land and extracting revenge for her people. 

If this season picks up steam more gradually than its preceding ones, an argument can be made that precipitates from the necessity to do a lot of table setting for the characters as the story gains momentum. By the time we reach the finale, it becomes glaringly clear that Sheridan's blueprint worked. In the ultimate cliffhanger, there's reason to fear at least three of the series' major characters' lives are in serious danger, most especially John, who we last see on the side of road after being shot multiple times. If anyone could survive this, it's undoubtedly him, having already defeated a bleeding ulcer and numerous other threats against his life by a variety of enemies. He's just too stubborn not to, even as he's unaware that the fates Beth and Kayce also hang in the balance, both having also been targeted.

 

There's this already established sense that Yellowstone is unpredictable enough to never discount the idea of a major character or two being sacrificed to serve the story's larger purpose. But when it comes to these three, any of them drawing their last breaths seems unlikely if the series it to continue at the level of quality viewers are accustomed to. Instead, with a rogues gallery of potential suspects lined up, Sheridan will likely spin this yarn around the themes this series' foundation has long been built on: loyalty and revenge. The Duttons will come looking for the latter, and when they do, business promises to pick up.          

Bill and Ted Face the Music

 

 

Director: Dean Parisot

Starring: Keanu Reeves, Alex Winter, Kristen Schaal, Samara Weaving, Brigette Lundy-Paine, William Sadler, Anthony Carrigan, Erinn Hayes, Jayma Mays, Hal Landon Jr., Beck Bennett, Kid Cudi, Amy Stoch, Holland Taylor

Running Time: 92 min.

Rating: PG-13

 

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

 

Before watching the long-anticipated third installment of the Bill and Ted series, Bill and Ted Face the Music, I couldn't help but consider how other recently sequeled and rebooted films and TV series have fared under the similar circumstance of waiting decades to see the light of day. 2014's Dumb and Dumber To and 2016's Pee-Wee's Big Holiday were both creative disappointments that grossly overestimated fans' loyalty and patience, proving that just a trip down memory lane isn't always enough. The former tried too hard to replay the characters' antics from the original, while completely losing sight of how their advanced ages would affect our view of their behavior. Pee-Wee fared only slightly better, if only because of Paul Reubens, who was let down by a toothless story that failed to grasp the subversive genius and lunacy of the character. Only Netflix's Cobra Kai has shown exactly how well this can be done, retroactively enhancing the legacy of The Karate Kid by actually improving and building upon what was most beloved about the original. 

 

Ideally, the Cobra Kai treatment is what we'd want for Bill and Ted, which has bar to clear that's probably a tad lower than those aforementioned properties, despite a still sizable fanbase. But after numerous false starts and promises for a sequel, is it too late? Well, if it's good enough, then no. That's always the answer. As to whether Bill and Ted Face the Music is actually worth the wait, that's a little more complicated since increasingly fewer sequels are. But that's not a criticism when you consider the time we had to build up our expectations and contemplate the paths a potential follow-up could take in failing to fulfill them. When put in those terms, this is a lot of fun, if overstuffed and spotty at points. 

To his credit, director Dean Parisot (Galaxy Quest) doesn't merely coast on the many thrills of Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter effortlessly sliding back into their iconic roles, even as we couldn't have guessed they'd be co-starring opposite two actressess capable of matching them. And while I can only imagine what those unfamilar with the franchise would think of it, they won't watch anyway, so the film gets away with indulging in some fan service. The originals were always kind of viewed through rose-colored glasses and that this has a self-referential awareness of that nostalgia only serves to make the experience more enjoyable.

Now married fathers, William "Bill" S. Preston Esq. (Winter) and Theodore "Ted" Logan (Reeves) have spent most of their adult lives fronting the band they formed as burnt out, dim-witted teenagers, The Wyld Stallyns, while still failing in their quest to write a song that will unite the world. Now playing family weddings as their Medievel princess spouses Joanna (Jayma Mays) and Elizabeth ((Erinn Hayes) look on in disappointment, they're about ready to hang up their guitars despite mini-me daughters Thea (Samara Weaving) and Billie's (Brigette Lundy-Paine) unending, headbanging adulation of their music. But after a visit from Rufus' time-traveling daughter, Kelly (Kristen Schaal), the guys are taken to the Great Leader (Holland Taylor), who informs them they have until 7:17 pm to write "the song" or reality will completely collapse upon itself, a process that's already underway. 

Armed with mentor Rufus' phone booth, Bill and Ted come up with a plan to travel through time and obtain the song from their future selves and bring it back with them, skipping the work of actually writing it. Blissfully unaware of the obvious flaws in that approach, they proceed to make an even bigger mess of things while their daughters also time travel to gather a hall of fame of great musicians to help their fathers craft this perfect song. 

Little do they all know a killer robot (Anthony Carrigan) whose name you won't soon forget is tasked with eliminating them, if only he can remain emotionally stable enough to do so. They also have a reunion with the Grim Reaper (William Sadler), with whom they still have lingering music business disagreements that caused a falling out. With pressure mounting, Bill and Ted may finally be forced to mature and write the one hit song that's always alluded them. And it's kind of a big deal, with the universe ending and all. 

It's almost as if every possible idea for this sequel that's landed on a studio executive's desk since 1991's Bogus Journey was crammed into this one's brisk 90-minute running time. That's not necessarily a bad thing when considering the overall zaniness of this series, but it does seem overcrowded and a bit uneven, resulting in a mixed bag filled with hits and misses. Luckily, there's more hits, with the proceeedings getting off on the right foot almost immediately when we meet the 2020 versions of these beloved characters still performing as they always have, albeit at far smaller venues this time around. The wedding that kicks things is one of the film's many laugh-out-loud moments and successful gags, giving us a pretty good idea of what's to come. 

Other than being a little older, heavier, and married, it's essentially the same Bill and Ted, almost as if no time's passed at all. Only, it has. But Chris Matheson and Ed Solomon's script doesn't run away from that and appropriately centers the story around these two middle-aged slackers being forced to finally grow up, if not for their own sakes, then to save their crumbling marriages. An early scene with the two couples in therapy is one of the cleverest, perfectly encapsulating the bone-headed philosophy of our two protagonists and providing relief that they haven't changed one bit. 

There's something substantially less pathetic going on here than we saw in Dumber and Dumber To, with recognition that they can't just repeat the exact same hijinx we saw decades ago and expect an identical result. Then again, the characters can't exactly change or evolve too much either. It's a thin line, but one the script mostly pulls off while keeping the spirit of the franchise intact. The movie gets into more problematic territory when confronted with the nuts and bolts of the plot, which somehow manages to make less sense than the previous installments. Needlessly convoluted at points, it does kind of have a thrown together feel, probably resulting from all the different incarnations this project must have gone through before Steven Soderbergh eventually stepped in as producer to help deliver what we have now.

The story thread involving Bill and Ted having various encounters with versions of their future selves is both wildly inconsistent and endearingly amusing at the same time, with the best of these sequences involving a face-to-face with their rich, pampered British rocker couterparts and a welcome Dave Grohl cameo. But it's the sub-plot involving their daughters that most obviously pays tribute to the original film, with Billie and Thea hopping through time to gather an all-star line-up of legendary musicians like Mozart (Daniel Dorr), Louis Armstrong (Jeremiah Craft) and Jimi Hendrix (DazMann Still, who looks distractingly unlike him). Then there's Kid Cudi, appearing somewhat randomly as a time displaced iteration of himself. 

While none of this carries the impact of Socrates and Lincoln's contributions in Excellent Adventure, it still works, as does the eventual excursion into Hell where they reunite with William Sadler's jilted Grim Reaper. This, and everyone's interactions with Carrigan's socially awkward robot Dennis Caleb McCoy feel the most Bill and Ted of everything in the entire film and something that would feel right at home in either of the prequels. Other elements click, but given the choice, there's something immensely enjoyable about how those two characters are incorporated into the plot and play off Bill and Ted. 

It may have been the role that made him famous, but even well into his superstar ascent it was difficult for Keanu Reeves to shake the "stigma" of playing Ted that seemed to trail him throughout his career. Then something changed and the more the actor spread his wings in a variety of different projects over the decades, it became abundantly clear the character wasn't a stereotypically airheaded reflection of the person playing him. So it's a good thing Keanu never took that idea, or himself, all that seriously, instead building a varied résumé of work to prove his adaptability as a performer. 

The tide has now turned toward fans wanting the actor to reprise the role, not as a joke, but because we legitimately think he could bring a fascinating new dimension to it in upper middle-age. While I'm still unsure the part even necessitates that level of depth or commitment, watching him do this again just feels right. Moving from flannel to sports jackets while maintaining Ted's same sense of dopiness, wonder, hazy-eyed cluelessness with complete sincerity, we may have finally realized the actor and character really are inseparable. The only difference now is that we mean it as a compliment.

Largely avoiding the spotlight while establishing himself as a force behind the camera, Alex Winter always semed to have a gift for making Bill seem like the more grounded of the pair. Running with it from exactly where he left off in '91, the timing's definitely still there, making it kind of remarkable we've seen so little of him on screen prior to what's now his most high profile project in years. His outing here serves as a reminder that this was never an indictment on his comedic chops, as he's close to being one of the best things about this sequel.

When the guys do permanently bow out of these roles (as the film's ending already implies they may have), we at least know now they'll have more than suitable replacements. As Thea, Brigette Lundy-Paine delivers the most ingenious impersonation of Keanu Reeves playing Ted you'll ever likely see, right down to his voice, hand gestures and speech patterns, all while still finding a way to make the character's spirit completely hers. You won't be able to take your eyes off her as she delivers what feels like the ultimate greatest hits compilation of every "Whoa, Dude" and "Excellent" fans practiced with their friends as a kid. And yet, it somehow ends up being so much more, doing a better version of Keanu doing Ted than Keanu does. 

Since Bill doesn't have quirks that are quite as easily identifiable, Samara Weaving isn't given as much to play with, but there isn't a moment where she doesn't seem to be every bit her father's daughter in terms of appearance and personality. It's just great casting with these two, who steal the movie from their co-stars, especially as we realize the story's as much about these aimlessly likable 25 year-olds as it is their dads. 

Just trying to find their way, the supportive Billie and Thea and blindlessly devoted to the Wyld Stallyns music, but burdened by many of the same distractions that prevented their fathers' careers from ever truly taking flight. It would have been the easy way out to build the whole plot around Bill and Ted trying to fix some kind of rift with their estranged daughters, but they instead took the far more effective route of just making the girls funny and strange, and their dads' biggest, goofiest fans. It's really why the whole movie works, most especially in its closing minutes. 

The absence of the late George Carlin as Rufus was always going to be an issue, and while his presence is sorely missed, enough time has passed that it isn't the giant, insurmountable problem we imagined it could be. A holagrammed version of him does briefly appear via CGI in a respectful, undistracting moment and fans will be happy to see that his phone booth is just as integral to the plot as it was in the previous entries. Considering Rufus can't be suitably replaced, it at at least makes sense that his daughter would step in as a nod to the character, even if most of Kristen Schaal's comedic scenes opposite the Great Leader kind of fall flat through no fault of her own.

After all the years of hearing about and subsequently not getting a Bill and Ted sequel, the fact that we would finally be getting one was starting to feel like a no-win situation, if only because of the expectations. But it turns out that those involved knew exactly what they were making and did their best to make it feel smarter than merely a reunion tour celebrating a movie from their youth that probably wouldn't play as well now. Which isn't to say this doesn't give us a very large helping of nostalgic comfort food that's evident the second we see that classic Orion Pictures logo flash on screen. And with all the years available to release this sequel, did they ever ever pick the right one to have Bill and Ted write their song that could potentially unite and save the world. Funny how those things just seem to work out.