Taylor Sheridan, once hailed as the bold new voice of the modern Western, now finds himself standing in the dust of his own success. With juggernauts like Yellowstone, Landman, Tulsa King, and Mayor of Kingstown, he’s built a television empire rooted in grit, Americana, and poetic monologues delivered by hard-edged men. But after nearly a decade of dominance, critics and fans alike are beginning to ask: Has Taylor Sheridan’s style become a formula — or worse, a creative prison?

Repetition Beneath the Grit

What once felt like a breath of fresh air in a stale genre has slowly calcified into a pattern. Landman, now in its second season, feels eerily similar to Yellowstone at its core. Different industries, yes — oil vs. ranching — but structurally and thematically, they’re near twins: A hardened patriarch, an impulsive daughter/ex-wife, a disobedient son, a big dreamer outsider, and an early tragedy that’s quickly brushed aside. Rinse, monologue, repeat.

Even Lioness, Sheridan’s spy drama outlier, carries DNA from Sicario and his other scripts, with plotlines that border the familiar. Dialogue like “Who are we going to war with?” recycled across franchises starts to erode the originality that once defined his work.

Characters or Caricatures?

Sheridan’s characters, once richly flawed, now often feel like composites of each other. From John Dutton to Tommy Norris, from Beth to Angela — we’re watching the same storms with different names. Female characters, in particular, seem either over-written into volatility (Beth Dutton) or underwritten as echoes (Angela Norris). Sheridan’s own self-insert roles — like Travis Wheatley in Yellowstone — haven’t helped his case, appearing increasingly indulgent and disruptive.

This trend of character stagnation, especially with protagonists stuck in loops of power, grief, and vengeance, has led some viewers to disengage entirely. Where once there was nuance, now there’s repetition. Where there was poetry, now there’s posturing.

The Paramount Problem

Sheridan’s high-stakes split with Paramount raises an eyebrow. Though “creative differences” and cost overruns are part of the narrative, it’s hard to ignore how much of his output began sounding the same. With no writers’ room to challenge him (Sheridan famously dismissed the Yellowstone writers after Season 2), the echo chamber effect intensified. One writer, one voice — everywhere.

Ironically, the most praised entries in Sheridan’s catalogue lately — 1883, 1923, and Lioness — owe their success to tighter, finite storytelling and character arcs with true evolution. When he’s forced to finish a story, Sheridan’s brilliance shines. When left to meander? The wheels begin to spin.

What’s Next?

As Sheridan prepares to take his talents to NBCUniversal, there’s hope he may reinvent himself. A new network, new collaborators, and possibly a humbler creative landscape could push him beyond the well-worn cowboy boots of his past. Whether fans follow him there will depend on one thing: Can he finally let go of the formula and rediscover the frontier?