They're both pulpy, for sure. Succession probably has a more complete cast, but Yellowstone, for me, was just as good - with the visuals making it more fun to watch. Both are soap operas, but with the freedom of modern television, they can really raise the stakes. Instead of alien babies and endless kidnappings, you've got corporate espionage and actual murder.
Yellowstone certainly starts off dialed to eleven and stays there throughout. Costner plays a rich rancher who basically runs Montana and battles with everyone - from developers to politicians to local native tribes to his own children - to maintain and expand the empire his family has built over 132 years. There's a real tradition vs progress vibe that does a good job of not sinking wholesale into us vs them, but recognizes the tension of changing times.
I'm certainly giving it too much credit at this point, but it was created by Taylor Sheridan, who wrote Sicario and Hell or High Water and wrote and directed Wind River (my favorite movie of 2017). His fingerprints are all over Yellowstone and you should check it out.
What intrigued me about the whole thing (having binged about ten hours of tv in two days), is how allegorical it is for the Trump perspective on the world. I find it interesting that so many people try to read Trump critiques into Succession, which aren't really there, but miss the Trump show on TV because it's dressed up in cowboy hats and lost in the woods of Montana.
The first real example is the "branded men," criminals that Costner's character hires, essentially as indentured servants, to work his ranch. They're a separate crew from the regular ranch hands and they each take the cattle brand of the ranch on their chests. This is reminiscent of an ancient Hebrew practice, detailed in the Bible, where servants who had earned or been given freedom could pierce their ear as a sign of commitment to their masters, essentially committing themselves to service beyond what is owed.
One of the branded men on the show, newly out of prison, begins to understand how the ranch operates on it's own terms and tells the foreman he won't break the law. The foreman replies that the brand signifies trust, specifically, "That we trust you to do what we tell you." The man replies, "That's not what that word means."
I couldn't help but think of Jim Comey's memoir and his awkward retelling of the dinner he had with Trump in which the President asked for his loyalty. Comey replied that he'd be loyal to the country and it wasn't quite what Trump was looking for. Loyalty has been a big thing for DT throughout his life and campaign. We've come to see that loyalty and trust mean something different to him than they do to most people.
In another episode, Costner is trying to convince his daughter in law to give up her job teaching on a local native reservation to take a more lucrative position that would help secure her family's future. He says, "To consider other families before my own is to fail them as a father." This is another pretty clear allusion to how Trump operates. Regardless of how the Presidency turns out, his family will be much better off because of it.
I can't believe these exchanges are accidental on the show. They really put into focus the self preservation and single-minded, survive at all costs mentality Costner's character brings to life. He's willing to use politics, fear, intimidation, and violence to further the empire he's found himself responsible for. In some ways, it humanizes a Trump who's so easily vilified, but it also lends credence to the pioneer mentality that's so prevalent in the West.
This isn't a take down, but a study - and it's about more than just Trump. On a larger scale, it's a human reality. We survived as a species only because of our selfishness. Babies live because they're demanding and self-serving. Humans beat out other competing species because of how well we adapted to tribal life - not only seeing our group as an extension of ourselves, but recognizing the threats that other groups pose to us and our safety.
We just watched the documentary Jane, about Jane Goodall's early work with Chimpanzees in the Gombe. Years after her research facility had been established, the tribe of chimps she was studying split into two groups, essentially sharing the range they'd occupied together. This triggered an all out war, in which one faction literally attacked and eradicated the other. Even though there was plenty of space for both to exist, the disloyalty created a threat that had to be dealt with.
There's something primal in us that recognizes the self and the tribe as essential to life. We are not chimps, but those overt, primitive actions reflect on the some of the things we humans do to each other and the way we view our relationships. Pressure tends to push us towards our baser instincts - those parts of us buried the deepest tend to come out in times of stress. A lot of "successful" people use pressure - both real and manufactured - to create the kind of pressure necessary for them to act in ways that further their aims.
I think of the coverage of Luis Suarez, the top soccer player known mostly for biting opponents on multiple occasions. He talks openly about growing up in poverty and the things he had to do to survive. Even though he's now rich and in no real danger of anything anymore, he convinces himself that the guy across the pitch is literally trying to take food from his children's mouths, which enables him to summon the passion needed to excel at a high level.
Obviously, there are issues with this kind of approach, but it's certainly present in the world and it's probably far more present in our own lives than we'd like to admit. It's easy to see the success of Suarez and Trump (or Costner in the show), and think "isn't there a limit? Don't you have enough?" Some chalk it up to greed, but I tend to think it's fear. We're afraid of want or suffering. We're all just one bad break away from poverty. That might be less true for some than others, but it is a reality of the world in which we live.
Psychologists have done a number on people like Trump - saying he's striving to fill the void a lack of love left in his life, or that Suarez is simply not over the trauma of his childhood - and there are plenty of valid explorations there. I think more, though, this conversation is important for what it says about all of us. Fear is the dominant narrative of modern times, especially in the US.
Despite being relatively comfortable, we're constantly afraid, because we're constantly asking each other "what if? what if? what if?" We dwell on all the possible threats to the point where we can see nothing else. Yes, it might be elevated in someone like Trump, but the guy wouldn't be popular if that narrative didn't strike home for so many.
Guess what? The genius (to me) of Yellowstone and the Trump allegory it portrays, is that it also exposes the fear inherent in the opposition. Trump resistance uses fear as motivation in the same way. Yes, I get that the actual things - actions, policies, laws, etc - being proposed by each side have real and important differences, but the atmosphere and means by which those things are sought is the same. It's always about someone else taking something you deserve.
When it comes to Yellowstone, and to Trump, I think there's plenty to critique, but there's also a lot to consider.
How does fear impact our lives? How often do we respond, act, speak, or live in reaction to fear, as opposed to some positive force, like love, rationality, or logic? It's easy to critique those more extreme than us, but those extreme reactions begin somewhere - and that somewhere is typically the kind of decision we make everyday. Our fears are not unfounded - we live in a world where bad things happen - but they're almost always out of proportion, which means they occupy a larger place in society than they deserve.
Fear breeds fear. Things escalate. The cycle not only continues, but builds and grows. This is the lesson of Yellowstone; it's also the lesson of the Trump era. By all means, stick up for what you believe, but don't do it in ways that feed the fear. Fear is the real monster; what you're afraid of a mere symptom.
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