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Taylor Sheridan should not write about grief. Not right now, anyway.
Given what happened with his most recent effort — in “Yellowstone’s” hugely disappointing, downright bizarre final season — it’s safe to say the super-producer’s skills, such as they are, could be better utilized elsewhere. (A comedy, perhaps? But let’s circle back to that.)
The John Dutton-less episodes of “Yellowstone” took such a swift trip to Nonsense Ranch that Sheridan felt he had to transition from its offscreen caretaker to its onscreen hero. (Remember Travis Wheatley?) Granted, behind-the-scenes turmoil may have clouded the creator’s judgment, but “The Madison” makes it painfully clear that wasn’t the only reason “Yellowstone” limped to the finish line.
Grieving the loss of the great, untouched, American West? Sure, yes, he can make that work. Grieving the end of our country’s cowboy era? Maybe, sometimes, OK. But grieving the loss of a living, breathing, human being? Not his forte. Not by a longshot. Please stop trying.
“The Madison” joins a long list of shows whose makers deem its premise a spoiler, so I cannot mention the inciting incident that sets off Sheridan’s latest Montana-set drama. (While once developed as a “Yellowstone” spinoff, the new series is not officially connected.) What I can say is that beyond the idea of grieving an unspecified “tragedy,” it’s difficult to pinpoint what, exactly, “The Madison” is about. It wants to be a wistful romance of sorts. It also wants to be a story of starting over. It also wants to be very silly in random little moments and very sad in lengthy, over-calculated stretches. Neither resonate, and none of these thematic patterns are strong enough to sustain a six-hour first season.
But what “The Madison” is really about — what it’s most passionate about conveying and most clearly communicates — is what so many recent Sheridan shows are about: settling grudges.
Rather than take more pot-shots at Costner, “The Madison” broadens its callous aim to all of New York City. That’s where the Clyburns call home — well, technically. Self-described “city mouse” Stacy (Michelle Pfeiffer) certainly does, even if her husband, Preston (Kurt Russell), prefers the quiet creeks and open plains of Montana’s splendid countryside. His brother, Paul (Matthew Fox), lives out there full-time, and the two sneak away for as many fishing trips as they can.
Preston, to be clear, loves his wife. He’s not pulling a Jack Twist and sneaking away from a family he wishes he never had. He’s just a millionaire who made his money in Manhattan and has steadily grown to resent it. Not that “The Madison” explains why. “I don’t even like what I do,” Preston tells his brother, without ever saying what he does or why he hates it. The ambiguity is likely the point: It’s easier to identify with a wealthy old white guy when his wealth is a mystery, he’s portrayed like a saint, and he’s played by Kurt Russell.
Like rich people who don’t want to talk about money because it’s uncouth, Sheridan hides his characters behind indefinite backgrounds viewers can build for themselves. Maybe the Clyborns made their money by developing vaccines and eradicating diseases around the world. Or maybe they made their money manipulating the stock market and manufacturing black-market weaponry. Either way, they stand in stark contrast to the Duttons, whose family history was a point of pride for John and his late wife, even when it wasn’t always something to be proud of.
What Sheridan isn’t shy about specifying is what’s wrong with the present. While Preston is standing in a river cloaked in celestial mist, his family is living in hell — aka New York City. Stacy has lunch with friends who blame the local politicians for turning their lives into “chaos.” She has dinner with daughters who believe everyone uses Peltons because it’s too dangerous to ride a bike outdoors. Gluten allergies are a myth, only cowards put creamer in their coffee, yada yada yada, Sheridan is playing the hits, in the hopes they’ll activate a fandom who values confirming their own hallucinated biases over caring that their TV characters reflect any kind of lived reality.
Kurt Russell and Matthew Fox in ‘The Madison’Courtesy of Emerson Miller / Paramount+To prop up his strawman arguments, Sheridan introduces the Big Apple by showing Stacy’s twentysomething daughter, Paige (Elle Chapman), getting punched in the face and robbed while walking down Fifth Avenue. Her parents imply it’s her fault for refusing to use her private car service (which she considers a “garish display of wealth”), and it’s later implied the criminal got away because Paige wouldn’t share her attacker’s skin color with the police. Why not? That would’ve been “racist.”
“I can’t come up with one plausible reason we still live in that city,” Preston says upon hearing the news, teeing up his wife to agree with him — albeit too late. Tragedy strikes. Relationships are forever altered. Worlds are turned upside down, but only kind of: Stacy travels to Montana, something she swore she’d only even consider if Preston installed indoor plumbing, which he has not. Once she gets there, though, she’s taken aback. The people are… nice? The views are… stunning? The lifestyle is… palatable, even enriching?
Could it be that her husband… was right?
Duh! Of course! Father knows best! Rather than explore any real friction between disparate viewpoints, “The Madison” plays out like vindictive dad porn. You’re just watching a wife admit her husband knew better than she did, and his kids pay the price for not following in their parents’ footsteps. If you took a shot of whiskey (Preston’s preferred drink, of course) every time Stacy says her husband is right about life in Montana being better than life in New York, you’d be dead by midseason. And that includes his seemingly exaggerated position of not being able to come up with “one plausible reason” people might like New York City: The show never offers one, unless you count the whole “toilets inside the house” thing.
Even if you’re not triggered by Sheridan’s blatant provocations, “The Madison” is missing a story engine. The end of the pilot offers one option, then tries it out again at the end of Episode 2, and then abandons it for the rest of the season. By Episode 4, it’s seemingly about Stacy trying to get to know her husband by experiencing everything he loves about Montana, but there’s no mystery waiting to be uncovered. Preston is too perfect to be hiding some perception-altering secret, and the whole point of his love for the location is that you can see it, feel it, and understand it immediately. After the finale’s credits kicked in, I still have no idea what to expect in Season 2.
(I can only hope it pivots to a comedy, since the best scenes are between Paige and her husband, Russell, played by “Suits” star Patrick J. Adams. Paige is little more than a dumb blonde stereotype, another underwritten female character in Sheridan’s growing oeuvre, but Chapman laces her babyish whining with surprising bite, while showing a knack for physical comedy. Adams is her wide-eyed beholder, always afraid of getting yelled at for no reason — you can almost hear him thinking, “Women, amirite?” — but when he’s let off the leash, Russell’s excited puppy-dog routine is weird and fun. They’d fit right in on an early aughts CBS sitcom and, with the late-season addition of Will Forte as a “fuckboi therapist” who Stacy loves to belittle, I’m convinced that’s exactly what “The Madison” should become.)
But I digress! For now, at least, “The Madison” believes it’s a meditation on grief, a contention that provides Pfeiffer with plenty of scenes where she’s crying and yelling at once, but can’t provide a reason to care. (Just watch her Apple show instead! It asks so much more of her, and she meets every challenge.) It’s not enough to observe sadness within the sheltered confines of wealth and the idleness of absent incentives, nor is a perfect romance built from a flawless relationship. (Stacy and Preston never fight. Not once. In 39 years of marriage. Gimme a break.)
Stacy may need to start over, to a certain degree, but there’s nothing pushing her to change. None of the Clyburns need to — not really. So long as they admit that father knows best, they’re free to keep doing what they really love to do: hate on anyone who disagrees with them.
Grade: D
“The Madison” premieres Saturday, March 14 on Paramount+ with three episodes. The final three episodes will be released March 21.
English (US) ·