Of the universe of Taylor Sheridan AARP-for-aging-’80s-guys dramas aimed squarely at the silent majority, “Tulsa King” is by far the most charming. Flitting somewhere between “Yellowstone” and “Get Shorty” in its tale of a New York goombah (Sylvester Stallone) starting his criminal enterprise all over again in Oklahoma, the show has spent three seasons simply letting its bulging cast of characters engage in soap-opera theatrics, squaring off against rival gang members and, in this last set of episodes, a vindictive bourbon distiller played by Robert Patrick. (Spoiler alert: Sly burns him at the stake in the season finale. I guess it’s the only way to be sure with the T-1000.) But in season four, “Tulsa King” finally feels like it’s getting lost in the literal and metaphorical sauce.
After taking over Patrick’s distillery, Dwight “The General” Manfredi (Stallone) is finally ready to legitimize his enterprises (well, some of them) and settle down with his girlfriend of three seasons, Margaret Devereaux (Dana Delany). Unfortunately, mysterious circumstances arise at the end of the season premiere that leave Dwight in deep mourning and unsure where his businesses stand with the government. That latter concern is compounded by the elevation of lieutenant governor Amanda Clark (Gretchen Mol), a by-the-books do-gooder who knows Dwight’s game and wants to shut him down permanently, to the top office.
That’s not Dwight’s only concern, of course; his old mafia family in New York City keeps gunning for the profits he’s been building in the Southwest, especially now that his old nemesis, Quiet Ray (James Russo), is fully in charge. What’s more, a greedy German AI tech bro (Flula Borg) is threatening to take Margaret’s horse ranch by eminent domain to turn the land into a data center.
All these conflicts and more stud “Tulsa King”‘s new season, and that’s not even getting into Bodhi’s (Martin Starr) flirtation with wine forgery, or Tyson’s (Jay Will) burgeoning rap career. And let’s not forget Dwight’s unsteady alliance with government spook Musso (Kevin Pollak) from last season and how that dovetails with Dwight’s existing animus with fellow capo Bevilaqua (Frank Grillo). Hey, there are a lot of aging character actors to pay; we gotta give them something to do, right? We should be thankful Samuel L. Jackson isn’t here to soak up more screen time, as he’s supposedly off building his own spinoff down in New Orleans.
“Tulsa King,” at this point, is more overstuffed than a turducken, with a cast so bloated that the gang is juggling at least three or four different schemes at once. Even Sly is getting a little tired; sure, some of that is Dwight’s puffed-up grief, but some of it is the older actor slowing down. (The show even writes a cane into Dwight’s ensemble; it’s passed off as an occasional knee injury that flares up from time to time, but I get the feeling that cane’s here to stay.) Even Sly coasting is compelling enough to watch, but you can tell the rest of the cast has to shore up their game to help carry this thing. This is especially true of Annabella Sciorra’s Joanne, Dwight’s enterprising sister and partner in crime, who slowly becomes the show’s heart and soul.
In fact, you get the most enjoyment from showrunner Dave Erickson and his writing team’s occasional lapses into the ridiculous. Italian enforcer pals Goodie (Chris Caldovino) and Vince (Vincent Piazza) shoot their way out of a white supremacist meeting at a restaurant they happen to be eating at; “You just got robbed by two swarthy Mediterraneans!” they shout as they leave. Dwight mournfully asks an AI chatbot whether God exists, and the scene is treated as if it’s dispensing therapeutic wisdom from on high. Someone gets their head crushed in the jaws of a fossilized dinosaur skull. In these scenes, “Tulsa King” ekes out a kind of campy enjoyment. It’s just a shame you have to sift through so many diluted storylines to get there. (The less said about the budding romance between Garrett Hedlund’s Mitch and Scarlet Stallone’s Spencer, the better.)
It’d be dishonest to claim “Tulsa King” doesn’t offer consistent diversion, even amid the myriad components of Dwight’s business empire and all the spinning plates therein. But this season’s villains don’t compel (including everyone’s favorite “My Son Hunter” director Robert Davi as a creaky enforcer who looks like he can barely stand, let alone take out fools), and so many of the plot threads feel like filler to give Dwight’s bloated entourage things to do. The bulk of the show’s charm falls squarely on Stallone’s broad shoulders, and even he’s starting to lose a step. Here’s hoping the show can get its affairs in order in an already-announced season five, or this vital leg of the Taylor Sheridan universe will go, well, the way of the dinosaur.
Full season screened for review. Premieres October 16th on Paramount+.
