When Landman premiered on Paramount+ in late 2024, it didn’t just throw us into the dust and diesel fumes of West Texas—it uncorked a decades-old TV tradition. If you’re feeling a bit of deja oil, you’re not wrong.
This gritty new drama, cooked up by Taylor Sheridan and Christian Wallace, walks a path once paved with shoulder pads, bourbon, and betrayal: the world of Dallas. And not by accident. Landman doesn’t just echo the past—it steamrolls into it with a drill bit and a five-gallon hat.
So how does the wild new world of Landman measure up to the iconic glitz of Dallas? Let’s fire up the pumpjack and find out.
Same Oil, Different Barrel
Both shows are soaked in Texas crude. But where Dallas danced through boardrooms and ballroom galas, Landman stomps into the mud and fracking rigs of the Permian Basin. It’s not just a change in scenery—it’s a full-blown shift in tone.
The backdrop:
- Dallas played out on the sprawling Southfork Ranch near the big city lights of, well, Dallas. It had private jets, Champagne breakfasts, and enough hairspray to light up an oil field.
- Landman, on the other hand, gets its boots dirty. It’s set in the real-world boomtowns of West Texas—places buzzing with rig workers, pickup trucks, and environmental headaches. This isn’t cocktail hour; it’s shift change.
And the change in tone? It’s night and day. Or more like gala and grease trap.
J.R. vs. Tommy: The Schemer and the Survivor
Now, let’s talk about the men steering these ships. Or more accurately, gushing these wells.
Larry Hagman’s J.R. Ewing was a full-throttle villain. A cigar-chomping, backstabbing oil baron who made betrayal into an art form. He didn’t stumble into power—he stole it, scammed for it, and smiled while doing it.
Cut to Landman‘s Tommy Norris, played by the ever-grizzled Billy Bob Thornton. He’s not here to play nice, but he’s not exactly a J.R. either. Tommy’s a crisis executive—a fixer. He bounces between the boardroom and the drill site, patching disasters, dodging lawsuits, and trying (mostly) to keep his soul intact.
Where J.R. chased money and revenge, Tommy’s just trying to make it to tomorrow.
That difference matters. Because it shows just how far storytelling—and TV audiences—have come.
In the 1980s, villains were glossy. Today, heroes are scarred.
From Glossy to Gritty: Tone and Texture
Here’s the biggest shift. Dallas was all glamour and family melodrama, like Shakespeare in a cowboy hat. It gave us cheating husbands, vengeful wives, and more fake deaths than a soap opera should legally allow.
Meanwhile, Landman takes a scalpel to the modern energy business. It’s inspired by the “Boomtown” podcast, which dove into the real-world consequences of the West Texas oil boom. That includes the chaos, the money, the broken towns, and yes—the people trying to keep it all from burning down.
This means:
- Less glitz, more grit
- Real-world environmental stakes
- Fractured relationships based on survival, not cocktail party gossip
In short: Dallas entertained. Landman educates and entertains. It’s part drama, part docu-fiction, and 100% relevant.
The Oil Itself: Symbol vs. Substance
In Dallas, oil was a metaphor. It stood for power, status, and family legacy. The Ewing oil company might as well have been a crown jewel. Everyone wanted a piece.
Landman treats oil more like a living, breathing beast. It pumps jobs into poor towns, but it also poisons groundwater and poisons politics. There’s no royalty here—just risk.
That’s a big difference. One made oil a throne. The other treats it like a ticking time bomb.
Legacy Play: Why Landman Tugs at Dallas Fans
There’s no denying it—Landman knows it owes a debt to Dallas.
From the opening credits to the family feuds, there’s a familiar rhythm. And that’s on purpose. Paramount+ leaned into the connection, pitching Landman as a kind of “next-gen Dallas.” But smarter. Dirtier. More urgent.
It’s nostalgia with a steel-toed boot.
And for longtime fans of Dallas, it’s like watching the grandkid of a TV giant take the wheel. It’s not the same, but it still makes you smile.
Final Spill: The Oil Keeps Flowing
So, is Landman just Dallas with drone shots and dust storms? Not exactly. But it sure knows where it came from.
What we’ve got here is a drama rooted in the same soil, but sprouting something new. Landman doesn’t wear sequins—it wears callouses. It doesn’t pour martinis—it grabs a Lone Star beer.
But like Dallas, it understands that oil isn’t just a resource—it’s a stage. And the characters who dance on it, whether schemers or survivors, keep us watching.
So if you loved Dallas, or you just want to see what TV drama looks like in steel-toed boots, Landman might just be your next obsession.
Keep your eyes on the rig. This story’s still pumping.
