In the Taylor Sheridan Paramount+ universe of cozy genre shows aimed at the AARP set, “Tulsa King” has always been a bit of a breezy, accessible alternative to the dour militarism of shows like “Lioness” or the queasy pro-oil histrionics of “Landman.” (And, of course, “Yellowstone” is no longer on the air to prop up the whole empire.) Like a mafia family without its patriarch, the Sheridan shows have been vying for succession in this new post-Costner landscape, and it seems as if Sylvester Stallone‘s effervescent series (about a New York mafioso setting up his own criminal enterprise in Oklahoma) has become the heir apparent. Season 3 feels like an attempt to set up that position, with greater expansion of the cast and more than a little franchise-building in the shuffle. And it’s still fun, even if it can get easy to get lost, so to speak, in the weeds.
When last we left Dwight “The General” Manfredi (Stallone), he’d seemingly found his happy ending. He shook off the triple threats of rival businessman Thresher (Neal McDonough), the Chinese triad, and the encroachment of New York on his business in the form of antagonistic capo Bevilaqua (Frank Grillo), and had finally taken his illicit weed business legit. What’s more, he’d even found love in strong-willed businesswoman Margaret (Dana Delany). But in the closing moments of Season 2, his door gets beaten down by a tactical team and he’s blackbagged. “You work for us now,” an unseen voice bellowed.
As Season 3 opens, we find out exactly to whom that voice belongs: FBI Special Agent Russo (Kevin Pollak), who’s picked up on Dwight’s activity in the area and has decided to recruit him to be his eyes and ears in the region in exchange for protection. (Sidenote: Russo has a chip on his shoulder about Dwight killing an informant of his decades ago, so expect that to come up later.)
But that’s the least of Dwight and company’s problems, as the gang move from the weed business to the booze business: They get wrapped up in a bid to help Mitch’s (Garrett Hedlund) ex Cleo Montague (Bella Heathcote) rescue her dad’s bourbon distillery from unscrupulous magnate Jeremiah Dunmire (Robert Patrick, all gravel and scowl amid that withered face), who wants to buy it out from under her poor pop. Dwight tries to step in to outbid him; Dunmire responds by burning down the Montague estate, with pops inside.
This turf war, and the chaos that ensues, eats up most of the first half of “Tulsa King”‘s third season, with a few detours along the way to check in on Dwight’s guys, from Martin Starr‘s stoner slacker Bodhi to Jay Will’s Tyson Mitchell, who continue down their path to styling themselves as New York-style mafioso under Dwight’s command. These moments, alongside Sly’s typical wise-guy bristling at newfangled gadgets (there are darkly funny gags about Sly not knowing how to work a Tesla, or not liking the youthful hippity-hop music of *checks notes* fifty-two-year-old rap legend Nas), sometimes bounce the show on an unsteady tone between gritty mob drama and cartoonish “Get Shorty”-esque comedy. The latter works better than the former, I’ll admit; even when the gags are weaker, Sly can still deliver a joke, and Starr feels ever more like his “Party Down” character got plopped into a season of “The Sopranos.”
But even amid its shaky narrative, the nervous footing of its jokes, and the devil’s row of characters and dynamics we’re expected to keep track of, there’s something light and infectious about “Tulsa King”‘s particular way of being. Sure, you feel the absence of Season 1 showrunner Terrence Winter (“Boardwalk Empire”) and the fact that the first season actually shot in Tulsa; Seasons 2 and 3 have swapped that out for the more tax-friendly environs of Atlanta. Even in this watered-down version, though, the central juice of the show’s pinballing tone and appealing characters remains.
Part of it involves one of the Sheridan-verse’s cheaper delights: Getting older A-list movie stars the chance to strut their stuff in a nice, easy, watchable drama. While we’ve always had Stallone, it’s a delight to see people like Grillo, McDonough, Delany, Patrick, Pollak, and Hedlund saunter their way through scenes with a veteran’s ease. They’re clearly too classy for a thing like this, which paradoxically makes the whole thing more effective.
The addition of Patrick is particularly fun, as between this and “Peacemaker” he’s really cornered the market on acerbic patriarchs in tonally-flexible genre shows. (Scenes with him and Stallone feel like the ’90s kid version of the diner scene from “Heat.” Look, it’s Rambo versus the T-1000!) The Dunmire clan even feel like a dark mirror for Dwight’s gang, right down to Hedlund’s Mitch having an evil twin of sorts in Beau Knapp’s brutish Dunmire son Cole.
With only six episodes available for critics at time of review, there’s no telling how “Tulsa King” will shake out its varying plot threads. (We haven’t even seen Samuel L. Jackson‘s character yet, whom the latter half of the season will undoubtedly focus on so he can swan off to get that Paramount paycheck on his own spinoff, “NOLA King.”) But part of me says that the story’s never really been the show’s true appeal. It’s a vibes thing; it’s less about caring for the fate of, as Sly himself puts it, an “over the hill goomba” and his group of misfits. You’re there to watch Stallone put on a double-breasted suit, smoke a cigar, and complain about millennials and their namby-pamby electric cars and their yacht rock alongside other old fogeys enjoying their Sheridan-funded televisual pension. As long as the show nails that core appeal, “Tulsa King” remains watchable.
First six episodes screened for review. The new season of “Tulsa King” premieres on Paramount+ September 21st.
